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THE CALL OF HONOR 



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BY 
PERCIVAL W. WELLS 



AUTHOR OF 

THE SON OF MAN, LILIES OF THE VALLEY, THE MARTYR'S RETURN, 
THE GREAT CORRECTOR, ETC. 




WANTAGH, NEW YORK 

BARTLETT PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1917 






Copyright, 1917 

by 

Bartlett Publishing Co. 



// 



QEC29 19I7 



CU 4 79 726 
4vo . t . 



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TO 

THE AMERICAN HONOR 



CONTENTS 



Cantus Poetae 


13 


The Soul 


14 


De Profundis 


15 


Vox Parentis in Bellum Clamantis 


17 


The Price ...... 


18 


The Wind of War . ... 


19 


To the New American Army . . , . . 


20 


A Toast . , . . . . 


21 


Ex Flammis Renascitur . . . . , 


22 


Complaint of the German Soldier . . 


23 


Beware of Destiny . . . . . . 


24 


Aux Belgiques 


26 


The Sea's Song . . . . . . 


27 


The Song of Death . . . . 


29 


We're Coming, Uncle Sam! . . . , 


32 


Two Pictures 


33 


The Country's Call . 


36 


Au die Deutschen . 


37 


Stella Fati 


38 


To Islam ....... 


40 


The Challenge of the German Submarine . 


41 


The Imperial Rat ..... 


43 


Dr. Demagogue ...... 


44 


The Child's Day 


45 



A Prayer of the Nation . 






46 


Le Vieux Probleme 






47 


A Voice from the Trench . , 






48 


Le Forgeron Amour 






50 


The Song of the Aeroplane 






51 


The Love Poem of Karl Meier 






52 


The Hand Grenade 






53 


Send Me a Kiss . . . . 






54 


Private Albert Dewey 






55 


The Song of the Cannon . 






56 


Corporal John Honnest . 






58 


Kiisse Madchen . . . . 






59 


The Love Poem of Hans Acker 






60 


Jack Sargent's Last Sonnet 






61 


The Recruit's Mother 






62 


Her Soldier Boy . . . . 






64 


A Midshipman's Love Poem . 






65 


The Midshipman's Second Poem 






66 


To the Russians 






67 


Mater Dolorosa 






68 


Arthur Clay's Farewell . 






69 


The Death Song of Sir Roger . 






70 


Translated from the Greek 






71 


Fly On, Forever! . . . 






72 


Chains ..... 






71 


Consolation .... 






76 


Mary Robine — A Play 






77 



INTRODUCTION 

After the cordial reception accorded my two 
recent books of poetry, Lilies of the Valley, and 
The Son of Man, I feel so near to the public 
that I do not hesitate to bring out this third vol- 
ume, and hope that it, too, will be well received. 
There are many thoughts which can be ex- 
pressed better in verse than in prose, and that is 
why I am using the former vehicle at this time. 

While I do not pretend that my poems are 
perfect, I have perfected them to the best of 
my ability (so far as perfection goes, nothing 
in this human world of ours can be perfect, 
because of such a great variety of tastes, stand- 
ards, and criteria) ; and they may be interesting 
and pleasing to a large number of readers. 

Like Beecher, who said once that when the 
English Language got in his way, it would 
have to look out for itself, I warn all the lan- 
guages that I use. We must remember that 
languages are means to an end, which is the ex- 
pression of thought, and not ends in themselves, 
however much the attempt may be made by 



some people to use them that way. Superficial 
writers I detest, and pedants I abhor, because 
superficiality is a cover to truth and pedantry 
a cover to superficiality. We should always 
keep our mind fixed on the end, not on the 
means. The end justifies the means — why not? 

In this case my poetry is only a mjcans; and 
I leave it to my readers to figure out the end, 
which will be determined by the readers, any- 
way. 

The person who fears to express himself for 
dread of making a mistake or being severely 
criticized will never say anything. Writers as 
well as critics would do well to rise above trifles, 
like Bacon's law, which he said ^took no notice 
of trifles,' and I personally believe that the ex- 
ample of the man who wrote most of the Eliza- 
bethan literature, as Bacon surely did, is worth 
following. 

Then there is the proverb which says that 
^Trifles make perfection, but perfection is no 
trifle,' which is more or less true, especially if 
we interpret trifle as meaning important details. 
So, to get anywhere, we have to watch the de- 
tails but must not allow ourselves to become 
lost in them. Bricks and mortar are necessary 
for building a brick house; but a design of 



10 



some kind is necessary, too; and when the edi- 
fice is completed it is only the fools who go 
around examining every little brick in order to 
see the house. 



IX 



CANTUS POETAE 

The poet sings, 

Emotionally conceiving, 
Of fancied things 

That have no true believing, — 

Love thoughts that gladden, 
Hopes that cheer and buoy; 

Enmities that sadden, 

Fears that torture and annoy; 

Ideals within the mind. 

Longings beyond human control; 
The murmurs of the passing wind. 

Visions of the dreaming soul/ 



13 



THE SOUL 

Like a mighty wheel within an engine-room^ — 
Noiseless, well oiled, smooth running and belt- 
bound. 
Turning in circles sweepingly around, — 
So run the years that drag us toward the tomb, 
Without an effort. Neither does the loom 
Of Fate grow tired of raising from the ground 
Its pitiless arms, which beckon to the mound. 
Weaving Life's threads into a cloth of doom. 
But oh! how beautiful that texture is 
Woven by Time's deft artisans! No wear 
Can injure it; the seasons can not hurt; 
Nor can the sunlight cause its images 
To fade, nor darkness make it seem less fair; 
And tho' buried, it is never touched by dirt! 



14 



DE PROFUNDIS 

Hail, O Patriotism, the Nation's friend 
Whose echoing voice is heard from end to end 
In this dear land established by the care 
Of mighty men who labored that for e'er 
AMERICA might rise and grow and be 
A haven whither those oppressed might flee — 
A land of honor, sympathy, and love! 
Thus then the glorious pioneers strove. 
With zeal divine, and raised up LIBERTY 
At thy command, O God, — aided by Thee. 
O Pilgrim Band, we thank you for the deed 
Ye did accomplish here, and for the seed 
Of Freedom ye did bravely bring and sow, 
And nurture, that it could the better grow 
Within the fertile bosom of our land; 
And you, great patriots, whose later hand 
In times of revolutionary stress 
Dared beard the tyrants and demand redress, 
We also thank, showing our thankfulness. 
Not we established Liberty within 
The western Hemisphere — no, it has been 
The work of other men, who came before 
And built for us the nation we adore! 



15 



But we have power to build or to destroy 

What they gave us. Wildly to shout and cry 

^O Patriotism!' is not enough: we need 

Something besides the willingness to bleed 

For America's dear sake ; we have been lax — 

Like men who stir not even though the axe 

Of battle and of death hang o'er their head, 

Like Damocles' old sword, strung by a thread! 

Idly we sat, and would not heed the call 

Of those who warned against a threatened thrall 

By enemies whose cruel fire and sword 

Was to be trusted more than their own word. 

Awake, Americans! Awake! Prepare! 

Be not content to rend the startled air 

With patriotic cries: preserve your rights, 

And fortify your liberties — he fights 

Not well who allows himself to be a slave 

To dangerous policies. Ye bear a grave 

Responsibility, Americans — 

Fellows and friends — more than shooting of guns : 

Alone ye have upon your heads the weight 

Of making what will be your country's Fate. 



i6 



vox PARENTIS IN BELLUM 
CLAMANTIS 

Young men, I need you. 
Come forth, O ye that are perfect 
Physically, with not a blemish. 
Keen-eyed, strong-limbed, and tall, 
Well-weighted, vigorous, brave. 
In the very flower of life : 
That I may sacrifice you to the god of War, 
Quickly upon his reeking altar, — 
You, my flesh and blood, my children. 
My darling ones. 
To save my honor and protect 
Against the enemies who plot against me, — 
Me your sacred parent. 

Come forth, I say, young men. 
And take your chances in the trench 
In the war that I must fight for liberty. 
And earn a soldier's burial, with honor. 
Your parent calls — respond to her dear voice! 



17 



THE PRICE 

When we are mean, 
And squeeze our dollars hard 
In fear of spending them upon the nation 
For purchasing an adequate protection 
Against invasions and insults, 
But strive to multiply 
Our personal wealth 
So we can buy the best of everything 
For luxury and show — 
Fine clothes, expensive automobiles, 
Rich food, large houses, servants. 
College and university degrees, 
Nice summer houses, yachts. 
Club fees, fine liquors, and — 
Ah, then we have to give. 
To stop the breach 
When the enemy waxes strong. 
Our very blood — our children. 
Who are the dearest things we have! 



I8 



THE WIND OF WAR 

Hark! how the wind doth shriek 

And cleave the wintry air! 
It rends the mountain peak 

And blows its chasms bare. 
Oh how the wind doth shriek, 

And roar, and swirl, and tear! 

Hark! how the wind doth blow 

With the blast of a dozen gales. 

Whirling the driven snow 
Across the moaning vales. 

Oh blow, wind, blow. 

Till stricken Nature wails! 

Oh how the wind doth sweep 

Across the disturbed sea 
And fill its threatened deep 

With wreck and misery! 
Oh sweep, wind, sweep. 

With merciless cruelty. 

Hark! how the wind doth rave. 

And drive the icy snow 
Over the sad earth's grave — 

Swirling high and low. 
Oh how the wind doth rave, 

And whistle, and shriek, and blow! 

19 



TO THE NEW AMERICAN ARMY 

Sprung forth from the womb of thy great Nation's 
need, 

With joyous acclamations wast thou born 

Unto America, that star of the morn. 
Thou art no feeble babe fit but to plead 
With broken voice; thou art no fragile reed, 

But a youth with endless vigor; no child for- 
lorn. 

But, like the wisdom goddess roughly torn 
From Jove's high brow, mature in thought and 
deed. 

We look upon thee now with hope enthused 
As on a mighty champion of right 

Who shall relieve and rescue those abused 
By false injustice, shackled in the night, 

Abandoned and forsook. Power thou hast 

To set the warring world aright, at last! 



20 



A TOAST 

Here's to the American youth- 
Courageous, valiant, strong. 
Lovers of justice and truth, 
Righters of wrong. 
Daring to die at their country's call; — 
I toast the brave Americans — one and all! 



21 



EX FLAMMIS RENASCITUR 

Children of France, yours is a bitter lot — 
To see your fair fields ruined, having not 
The power to stop the ruthless enemy 
From pillaging most devastatingly : 
Your hearts are bleeding, tho' your eyes be dry, 
Yet why give way to grief, O Frenchmen, why? 
For out of the sword and out of the fire 
There comes rebirth and new desire. 

Think not revenge— too terrible and great 
Has been, alas, for Germany your hate! 
The time has come for you, brave men, to prove 
Unto the world that you can also love. 
If you wish to be loved, you must begin 
Yourselves the other people's hearts to win. 

Heed this: the devastating fire 

Is often, too, a purifier. 

Fight on, brave folk, for firmly fight you must 

To guard your land against the foeman's lust; 

Take heart, fair France, estate most fiercely 
fossed — 

Thou wilt regain the cities thou hast lost. 

Towers may fall, but spirits never die; 

Out of the noise of battle comes the cry : 
^As the Phoenix rose from out the fire. 
So thou shalt have rebirth and new desire!' 



THE COMPLAINT OF THE GERMAN 
SOLDIER 

My God — a bullet through my lung! 

What shall I do? Where shall I go? 

It is dangerous to run — I have no force — 

I will lie down here on the hot soil. 

Blood! it's horrible! 

I cannot breathe — I must be dying. 

Sh — what was that? 

A ball through the top of my head? 

More blood? 

Damn those Frenchmen — they shoot too well. 

Elsa! Elsa! Where are you, Elsa? 

Fst — what is the matter with me? 

I imagined my Elsa was here. 

Ha — I recall — I'm shot — 

What will Elsa and the children do without 

me? 
For they have no one else. 
I was forced to it — damn the Emperor! 
Feel as if I was fainting — 
Hell — I'm going to die! 



23 



BEWARE OF DESTINY 

Destiny does not advance to please 

The proud, the idle, or the vain. 

She never placed a crown 

Upon the head of any sluggish man. 

She stands upon the path — 

Like an avenging Fury — 

To take the life of all who would abuse her, 

Destiny never spares the sluggards 

Or unjust men, 
When once they fall into her clutches. 
Thus perish all who would enjoy. 

Yet sowing not, 
Fame's bitter harvest. 

To the conquering hero 
Who has gained remarkable victories 
Over oppressive enemies — 
Spiritual as well as physical — 
By ceaseless thought and endless toil. 
Great Destiny stretches out her arms. 
And sets a gleaming crown of glory 
Upon his noble brow. 
So that its refulgent light 
Illuminates the warrior's face. 
A step — and Destiny has disappeared 
Within the gloom of falling night, 
Leaving in peace the hero with his crown. 
^4 



But, satisfied with his reward, 

The victor seems content to cease from work : 

He strives no more — but rests and sleeps 

A sleep of Death, 
From which no Fate can waken him. 
The golden crown grows dull. 
Falls to decay, then rots. 
And crumbling disappears in Night 

To follow Destiny: 
The hero has become a sluggard. 

Beware of Destiny! 



as 



AUX BELGIQUES 

Quel pitie que vous ayez perdu, Belgiques, 
Votre patrie! C'est un grand crime publique, 
Un crime centre tout le monde entier 
Que de mauvais AUemands ont commi. Ni vers 
Ni prose ne peut bien decrire vos souffrances, 
Pauvres gens! Vous avez une mauvaise chance! 
Les peuples moins sympathiques ne peuvent pas 
Manquer de sympathie pour vous dans ce cas, 
Et nous autres Americains, vraiment sinceres, 
Qui n'hesitons pas de nous appeler vos freres, 
Voulons vous rendre tout ce que vos ennemis 
Vous ont ote — peutetre impossible — mais si, 
Car avec le bonte de tout I'immense monde 
Vous serez plus riches qu'auparavant. Les ondes 
Memes s'agiteront joyeusement pour vous, 
Cet Ocean fraternel qui est entre nous. 
Souhaitons, O braves Belgiques, la victoire, 
La liberte, la paix, et finalement, la gloire! 



26 



THE SEA'S SONG 

Deep and strong am I, the Sea, 
Who roll across the bosom of the Earth. 
In times of calm, I am delightful, 
In times of storm I'm terrible, 
But in the tempests I am frightful. 
I serve as a water-way for Man, 
Supporting his vessels with ease. 
And give him food besides; 
But I take toll for all I give — 
Aha! the toll of life, and ships, and treasure. 
More than the Lusitania, 
More than the Titanic 
Have sunk beneath my waves! 
I am an independent kingdom. 
With peoples of my own ; 
Strange beings of many races, 
From single cells to monstrous whales. 
All sport in me. 
And I delight in them. 
Why should I not love them, my children? 
Because I am bitter I am sweet. 
And because I am briny I am pure: 
How else could I keep from being contaminated 
From the filth that Man pours into me? 

27 



I am a friend to Man 
When he respects me, 
But otherwise I am his enemy. 

Let him beware! 
Nations from time to time 
Have called themselves my mistress — 

Where are they now? 
They perish soon 
Who slander me like that, 
Collapsing like the puny boats I crush, 
I have no mistress. 
My god is my only master: 
It commands, and I obey. 



28 



THE SONG OF DEATH 

When the harvest is ripe I come with a shout 
And cut it down without mercy — 

Wahoo! wahoo! wahoo! 
(Which I holler much louder than the Valkyrie 
In Wagner's noisy opera). 
I love the old men because they are so old 
And have mocked me so long, 
Thumbing their noses at me boastfully, 
Like small boys that are naughty; 
I chuckle when I get a crop of old people. 
The middle aged I do not care so much about, 
Being neither ripe nor tender. 
But oh! how nice the children are! 
Infants in the womb. 

At the breast. 

Toddling about. 
Just beginning to learn the lessons of life. 

Half grown. 
And coming to puberty. 
They are my choicest cuttings. 
And when the epidemics conie along, 
I swing my scythe with a merry laugh — 

Wahoo! wahoo! wahoo! 

29 



I love white crepe, and black, 
I love the smell of deathly medicines — 
Uselessly standing on the table near the bed; 
I love the wringing of tortured hands. 
The cries and groans of mourners, 
True tears and crocodile all mixed together. 
Shaking of nerves, 
And suffering — 
It is for me a tonic ; 
I love the undertaker's oily ways, 
The black and lavender coffins. 
The well-draped hearse. 

The pompous procession strung out for show, 
And the tolling of the funeral bells ; 
I love the grave-diggers and the grave. 
The superstitious services. 
The sobbing of the living. 
Whose turn will come so soon. 
And the stiffness of the dead; 
The mound, and the stone. 
You know how cherries are at the end of the 

season 

After a few days' rain — 
Look fine from one side, but are rotten and 

wormy : 
That's the condition in which I find my harvest — 
Rotten, but all the same to me. 

30 



Best of them all 

I love the soldiers, 

Because they die in quantities. 

The roaring of cannon, 

The shrieking of murderous shells, 

The crackling and spitting of rapid-firers. 

The carnage of the battle, 

The agonizing yells of dying men. 

The wholesale burials. 

The sickening smell of putrified corpses: — 

Ah ! those are the things 

That make my very heart rejoice! 

Wahoo ! wahoo ! wahoo ! 



31 



WE'RE COMING, UNCLE SAM! 

I 

O Uncle Sam, send out the call 

To ring throughout the land ; 
The bugle will be heard by all — 
A loyal band. 
To die for America's sake is glorious : 
Blow loud the summons — a call to every man of 
us, — 
So we go marching, marching ever on! 

II 

We're coming, Uncle Sam, to fight. 

Six million strong. 
Guided by the Nation's star — 
Who comes along? 
With not a man a coward, and every soldier hrave. 
Ready to take our chances, even to the grave. 
Thus we go marching, marching ever on! 



32 



TWO PICTURES 

Willie Gray is a little soldier 
Marching up and down his beat 

With a gun upon his shoulder, 
Keeping time with sturdy feet. 

When he grows a little older 

He'll enlist and go to war; 
But then must Willie Gray be bolder 

Than to run from pussy's paw. 

Willie often teases Esther, 

Tho' she loves him just the same 

And is always his dear sister, 
Never with a word of blame. 

Once she owned a pretty dolly 
And had named it Simple Tom; 

Willie called it Esther's Folly, 

And broke off its head and thumb. 

He was often very trying, — 
Once he hit her with his shoe; 

Little Esther burst out crying. 
For her arm was black and blue. 

33 



"Don't be rude to little sister," 

Mother gently said, "my dear; 
It were better you had kissed her," 

And she wiped away a tear. 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

Oh, it was a fearful battle 
On the Western front one day. 

And the men were killed like cattle 
In the carnage of the fray. 

Yet the colonel did not waver 

At the head of his command; 
Never was a soldier braver 

Than he upon that battle-land. 

* * * * 

All was quiet in the chamber 

Where the wounded colonel lay- 
It was in the cold November, 
For him the parting of the way. 

His noble face was pale and bloody, 

As upon the battle-field; 
Set, the muscles of his body 

As determined not to yield. 

Closely watched they then the colonel ; 

Harder came his panting breath. 
Now the bleeding was internal, — 

He was fast approaching death. 
34 



Suddenly there came a whisper 
From the cot of William Gray: 

^'Give — my love — to — little sister!" — 
And his spirit passed away. 



35 



THE COUNTRY'S CALL 

Above the whirring of the wheels — 

Machines that, dully grinding, rend 
Both flesh and souls of men 

Who, forced by circumstances, bend 
To grasp gilt coins 

And other things that soil — 
Baser than the honest labor 

At which all men should toil ; 

Above the deafening din of war, 

Where heroes fight to win renown 
And struggle madly against the foe 

Only to totter, wounded, down. 
And where the brave men spill their souls 

(And others not so brave) 
That scheming cowards and thieves at home may 
gain 

Because they've fought and found a grave : — 

Hearken unto my message, noble youth — 
I send a call for justice, love, and truth! 



36 



AN DIE DEUTSCHEN 

Ach, trotz dem Krieg, das sich muss treiben heute, 
Wir haben Euch sehr gut, O Deutsche Leute! 
Es ist ein heil'ges Vaterland zu ehren, 
Und wir, sein Sohne, miissen es ja wehren. 
Vielleicht nach ein Paar Jahren ein schones Band 
Wird uns zusammen bringen Hand in Hand. 
Wenn auch im Kriege unsere Manner fallen, 
Gott ist mit ihnen beiden ; es wird zuf alien 
Dass wenn der Liebefriihling wiederscheint, 
Ein Friedens Jubilaum uns vereint! 



37 



STELLA FATI 

We are the servants of a higher Power, 

And yet we are the masters of our lives. 

Touched by the waves of psychic influence 

Far greater than we are able to comprehend, 

We move thru curving paths of destiny, 

Choosing and driven, until one end is come. 

Like wanderers who see a distant gleam 

Across the deepening shadows of the night 

And strive to reach, with courage reassured, 

The spot where shines the welcome beacon-glow, 

We go thru life with stars above our head ; 

And if we do not find the castle walls 

Within whose gates lies great Accomplishment, 

It is not that we ne'er beheld the ray 

Our spirit Guide flashed forth with care for us. 

But that we lost our opportunities 

Upon the way — blinded by selfishness 

Perhaps or turned by flitting will-o'-the-wisps 

Which lead poor travelers to morasses 

Of superficiality and vice — 

And left the light of hope burning in vain. 

For every man there shines a guiding star; 

38 



And he who recognizes thru the gloom 

Of human frailty a Power above 

His own, and follows on with growing hope, 

Will find at last a noble Destiny 

Which he, with wise and earnest endeavoring 

And Spiritual help, deserves and fulfills. 

With Nations, it is the same. Then why should 

we 
Fear death, which is the great Commencement? 
To it our guiding star is always leading! 



39 



TO ISLAM 

What do thy Moslem hordes that once traversed 
The fertile shores of Africa and Spain, 
And cruelly put to death Christians coerced 
By naked swords to heed Mahomet's fane? 
Where is thy Crescent — emblem of thy rise 
To power in East and West — Islam, thou bane 
Of better life — is it upon the wane? 
Is now thy curved moon fading in the skies? 
Islam, thou art a conquered race. Awake 
From thy long sleep, and with the world partake 
Of living feasts, and join the Christian tryst! 
No longer be ferocious Islam — wild 
And unspeakable, but be a little child. 
Eager to know the teachings of Jesus Christ. 



40 



THE CHALLENGE OF THE GERMAN 
SUBMARINE 

Come on, ye riders of the wave, 

Ye Lusitanias — 
Luxuriant palaces of pleasure and service 
That would frighten the eye of primitive man 
And fill with terror his ancient gods — 
Laden with comfortable passengers 
Enjoying the undulating sea 
In the midst of luxury 
Bought with a little gold. 
And with your precious merchandise 
Worth more to Albion 

(When delivered!) 
Than Croesus' fortune was to Lydia; 
Come on, ye merchant vessels filled with grain 
And other things that hungry Ocean 

Loves to swallow 
To feed his bowels never satisfied; 
Come on, ye superdreadnought monsters, 
So proud in your treacherous might 
Of useless armor and high-power guns. 
Recking yourselves the conquerors of the deep, 

Vanity, all vanity, — 

41 



Come on, I say, and try with me 
The fortune of battle! 
We are the killers of the sea, 
Like cruel and merciless cetaceans 
Who attack without warning or fear 
The leviathans most magnitudinous 
And tear them quick to death. 
This is our challenge- 
Hear ye it! 



42 



THE IMPERIAL RAT 

(Inspired by Goethe) 

A kaiser-cat did one time live 

Down in a German cellar, 
Lived high, with not a thought to give 
How low was his salt-cellar — 
Eye! eye! for a good digestion! 
He bored him holes in the pantry wall 
And nibbled on cheese till he did fall 

In spasms of indigestion. 
There he was caught by a doughty cat 
And chewed up fine — fur, cheese and fat. 
He never stole cheese after that, — 
Eye! eye! for a good digestion! 



43 



DR, DEMAGOGUE 

There was a sick man once who had to take 

Much medicine to clean from out his system 
Pneumonia. The first thing was to bake 

His lungs with mustard plasters to blister 'em 
As Dr. Demagogue commanded. But that 

Was not enough, so the doctor got a leech 
(This Demagogue had some few brains in's hat) 

And clapped it miightily upon the breech 
Of the burning man, to let a little blood. 

The juice ran slow, so then he took a cup 
And drew the precious liquid in a flood, 

But only drove the patient's fever up 
Full three degrees, over a hundred six. 

^^Ha, ha!" cried valiant Dr. Demagogue, 
''1 know the kind of dope that sure will fix 

This fiery fellow — a strong emmenagogue — 
The only cure is a heavy monthly flow!" 

He did accordingly, and bled him well. 
To make the story short, the man, you know. 

Recovered ; and Demagogue got his pay in hell. 



44 



THE CHILD'S DAY 

Green, the expanse of earth, 

Blue, the vaulted sky; 
Merry,, the children's mirth — 

For what have they to sigh? 

Gloomy, the end of day. 
Sombre, the coming night; 

No sound of laughter gay — 
No child is there in sight. 

Tucked in their downy beds. 

The little fairies sleep; 
And peaceful lie their heads 

In slumber soft and deep. 

They have entered Dreamland's door. 
Protected by God's breath; 

And how little they dream of War, 
Bullets, Battles, Death! 



45 



A PRAYER OF THE NATION 

O God, of Whom we are a part, 
Guild Thou our mind and bend our heart; 
Teach us to do, that we may know 
Thy heavenly favors as they flow. 

We are but weaklings. Thou are great; 
Thou mad'st our frame. Thou seest our fate. 
A day is ours — eternal, Thou, 
Before Whose edicts we must bow. 

We are but spirits held in dust. 
With thoughts impelled by human lust. 
Grant us this prayer : Guide our feet 
Until we reach Thy mercy-seat; 

When we are right, oh may we win. 
And gain our battles without sin! 
Be near unto our Nation, Lord, 
And guard it with Thy holy Word. 



4fl 



LE VIEUX PROBLEME 

How can one serve his country best? 
By following a weak-kneed governor, 

Supporting foolish acts, 
And giving approval to shambling policies 
That bring upon a nation shame? 
Or can one serve it best by honest criticism, 

And finding open fault. 
When necessary, 

With those great men 
Entrusted with the reins of government? 
Or should the people all, like dogs. 

Be muzzled 
To keep them from criticizing 

And demanding due reform? 
For choking people, there's nothing like 

A little Imperialism. 
Of course this does not refer 
To the United States of America — 
That wonderful land of ideal liberty, 
Where no brave man was ever imprisoned 

For speaking the truth. 



47 



A VOICE FROM THE TRENCH 

In the days of the older conquerors — 
The Grecian Alexander, the Caesars, 
Genghis Khan, Tamerlaine, Napoleon- 

They had nothing like me. 
I am a modern invention. 
Born, like many others. 
From dire necessity. 

My mother; 
And William the Kaiser sired me. 

The Cretan Labyrinth 
Was nothing compared with me. 
I clasp close to my bosom 
The sturdy young soldiers 

Who visit me, 
And very few escape. 
Why should I let them go? 

They are mine! mine! 
Insatiably I demand 
Great sacrificial holocausts. 

On which I feed. 
I scorn to take my victims 

One at a time. 



48 



Like Moloch, Baal, the Cyclops, Thlen, 
But more like the Aztec deities 
I devour them by the thousand, 
Although they come to me for protection, 
Turning their weapons against themselves. 
I work scientifically. 

According to modern demands. 
And do not hesitate to sing the boast 

That I have become an expert 
In managing my holocausts! 



49 



LE FORGERON AMOUR 

(Found, after the battle of the Marne, on the dead 
body of Henri Hugo.) 

II est un forgeron d'aniiOur, qui forge 

Les chaines d'ivroire et d'or sur mon coeeur; 

Ces bandes restent sous ma pleine gorge 
Tout aisement comme au printemps des fleurs. 
Salut au fort et bon Amour! 

L' Amour, avec ses esperances belles, 

Qui auront quelque jour beaucoup de fruit, 

A joint mon cceur avec le coeur de celle 
Que j'aime, grace a I'Amour — aimez-lui! 
Vive le forgeron Amour! 



50 



THE SONG OF THE AEROPLANE 

More powerful than the fabled rocs 

That were believed to carry ofif in their talons, 

As easily as eagles fly away with lambs, 

The largest elephants and hippopotami 

To feed their hungry nestlings, — 

Am I, the great man-bird machine, 

The latest engine of war. 
With wings outstretched I rise and soar 
Above the very clouds 

And into the azure heavens 
That for so many centuries — nay, aeon^ — 

Defied the human race. 
I conquer the air — I conquer space. 
And with my cannon and my bombs 
I help to conquer the enemy. 
Although I overcome the element 
With my great wings and strong propellers, 
I am still a servant to the will of man. 



SI 



THE LOVE POEM OF KARL MEIER 

(Killed at St, Quentin) 

Mein Schatz ist wie ein Diamant, 

Ein schoner, treuer Stein. 
Ich nahm sie frohlich bei der Hand — 

Sie glanzt' mit Pracht wie Sonnenschein. 

Mein Schatz ist arm, auch gut und rein, 

Und liebt mich ach so sehr! 
Sie wohnt in Braubach an dem Rhein, 

Und wartet bis ich wiederkehr'. 

Du shone Martha, konnt' ich leben 

So dass ich wiederkehr'! 
Bald muss ich doch mein Leibchen geben, 

Fiir meines Deutschlands Ehr'. 



52 



THE HAND GRENADE 

They thought me out of date, 
But recently I have proved 
That I am very much alive 
And full of modern deviltry. 
If I am not up with the times, 

Pray tell me, what is? 
I look harmless enough 
When I am not in action. 
And few who had not seen me work 
Would realize what a lump of terror 

I really am! 
I have two temperaments: 

One, the phlegmatic. 
Like what the English are supposed to be, 
Calm, deliberate, quiet, cool, and dull; 
The other, more like Satan's — 
Bursting with rebellious energy. 
Touchy, excitable, dangerous. 
Like a whole volcano of fiery passion 
Compressed beyond the lim^it. 
Confusing, with destructive violence, 
A bit of Cosmos — Man and his mother Earth- 
Back to old Chaos' twisted wreck. 



53 



SEND ME A KISS 

(From James Robinson, a private in the 
trenches, to his girl in Battle Creek.) 

Send me a kiss if you dare, miss, 

From your red lips so sweet, 
And seal the letter with care, miss, 

With loving lips, I entreat 

Send me a kiss, O fair miss, — 
Your father will never surmise; 

Don't tell your sis' the affair, miss. 
So who will ever be wise? 

Please send me a kiss if you care, miss, 
Perfumed with Love's own scent; 

I love you — but beware, miss. 
That kiss, it must be sent! 



54 



PRIVATE ALBERT DEWEY 

(In a French Hospital) 

Dear nurse, do you not love to look 
At my sweetheart's photograph? 

Beside my country whom I serve, 
She's the only one I have. 

Speak to me of her love — 
The dearest thing I prize; 

Tell of her beautiful hair 
And of her glowing eyes. 

Tell of her merry smiles. 
Her rippling laughter gay, 

Her mirth that pain beguiles 
And sends suffering away. 

Say that her heart is large — 

A home for tenderness, 
Throbbing with wonderful love 

And generous impulses. 

Write her that I am brave 
Because of her love for me. 

Dear nurse, do you not also love 
My girl across the sea? 



55 



THE SONG OF THE CANNON 

I roar defiance at the enemy, 
Belching out flame and smoke 
From my awful orifice — 
That gaping, toothless muzzle 
Which shoots forth living destructiveness. 

My boys— I love them 
With a sort of inhuman love — 

Feed me at the breech 
With the very essence of hell, 
Damnable (to the enemy I hate!) 
Forces of overthrow and ruin 
When well directed and pointed true. 
They call me their mistress of war, 

And I love the title 
As well as the tokens of love they give me. 
My love for them is faithful to the death. 

Death is my specialty: 
My dowry, my wedding-ring, my maiden-head,- 

All signify death! 
I hate the enemy 
With every fiber of my being. 
And do my best to annihilate them; 



56 



But when by evil chance 

I fall into their hands, 

As sometimes happens, 

I turn against my former friends — 

Forced to it, like a false mistress — 

And shatter them with high explosives 

According to my captors' will. 
Oh, put no trust in me, ye sons of men. 
But still ye had better heed my voice! 
I speak — not words of truth — 

But terrible words of war. 
How many million enemy boys 
I have forced to dance 

The dance of death! 



57 



CORPORAL JOHN HONNEST 

When first the call to the colors came, 

I lost my color, 

And wanted to run and hide. 

I am honest about it. 

And tell you the truth. 

Different from lots of 'em, 

Who found som^e fine excuse 

To conceal their cowardice 

And posed as patriots! 

Sometimes I don't believe it pays 

To be honest in this world, 

And yet I know that honest men 

Get their reward — there if not here, 

But possibly here and there. 

Call me a coward if you will — 

What's in a name? 

There are many who urge. 

But do not go themselves 

For some good reason of their own : 

I never would send a substitute 

To cover my cowardice. 

What is a brave man, anyway? 



58 



KUSSE MADCHEN 

(Sent by Lieutenant Heinrich Heine to his 
sweetheart in Basel, but captured on the way and 
never delivered.) 

Kiisse Madchen auf die Wang', 

Morgen ist nicht heut; 
Kiisse, aber sei nicht bang, 

Fliichtig ist die Zeit. 

Leb' die Liebe! Sieh, es ist 

Heut Gelegenheit 
Weisst du wen du morgen kiisst? 

Fliichtig ist die Zeit. 

Aufschub eines guten Kuss' 

Hat schon oft gereut. 
Frohlich doch man lieben muss — 

Fliichtig ist die Zeit! 



59 



THE LOVE POEM OF THE CYNICAL 
GERMAN SOLDIER, HANS ACKER 

Es klopft' ein Madchen an mein Herz; 

Ich horte sie zu snell. 
Ich fioh zu ihr — sie sagt, ^^Ein Scherz — 

Dein Herz ist ganz zu hell." 

Das Fraulein kam zuletzt zu mir, 

Sehr traurig sah sie aus. 
Ich sagte ihr, ^^Du bist ein Tier," 

Und trieb sie fort hinaus. 



60 



JACK SARGENT'S LAST SONNET 

Above, a deadly shower of splintering steel, 

Driven down upon us with man-killing fury, 
Biting revengefully through our caps to feel 

The softness of our brains ; beside us, gory 
And mangled shapes — once forms of living men 

That felt, and loved, and breathed like us, the 
air. 
But now all shattered, fearfully still; and then 

In front, behind, and all around the sair 
Screaming of dying men and screeching of shells 

That strike and burst like an avalanche of hells. 
The cannonading ceases — what a relief! 

Hark! the command to drive the enemy — 
No rest for tortured nerves — 'twas vain belief: 

A minute more to live — God pity me! 



6i 



THE RECRUIT'S MOTHER 

Her eyes were red with weeping 
As she stood at the cabin door 

And waved goodby to her only son, 
Whom she might see no more. 

Hers was a widow's lot — 

As twenty years before 
Her husband had bravely marched away 

To the Spanish American War; 

But he had never returned, — 

They sent to her instead 
A letter of hers they found at his breast. 

Dyed dark with martyr's red. 

Her father had gone to the Civil War 

To battle for Union's cause. 
And two of her brothers left with him 

'Mid wild applause. 

Applause of those who could not go 

Yet did their part at home 
To keep their country's honor bright. 

Enduring whatever come. 



62 



She never saw her father again — 

He died at Gettysburg; 
And her brothers were buried in heroes' graves 

At Fredericksburg. 

So now she stood and choked her sobs 

As she waved at her only son ; 
And she blessed the cause of the Blue-and-Gray- 

A true American! 



63 



HER SOLDIER BOY 

She's sighing for her soldier boy, 

Who went away to school 
And writes to her but once a day — 

How could he be so cruel? 

She sits upon the porch, and smiles 

When any one goes by; 
But when she goes to bed at night 

She lays her down to cry. 

O soldier boy, sweet soldier boy. 

Why do you not come back 
To see your love, your lonely love. 

Who dies upon the rack? 

Lay down your gun, your shining sword, 
Nay, take your arms with you. 

And quickly come to tell your girl 
That you will e'er be true. 



64 



AN AMERICAN MIDSHIPMAN'S 
LOVE POEM 

One heart was lost to me, 

Alas! but then 
I launched upon the sea 

Of love again. 

And so thy heart I found, 

Faithful and true, 
Steering where I was bound, 

Out on the blue. 

Let the shells burst and roar, 

I have no fear ; 
Of death I think no more — 

Only thee, dear. 

Fearless of foe or wind. 

Braving the sea, 
I shall return to find 

My true love — thee. 



65 



THE MIDSHIPMAN'S SECOND POEM 

I miss you, dear, the whole day long, 

Yet have you in my heart, 
And often hear the wondrous song 

You sang e'er we did part: 

*^Come soon again," — the words you sighed 

With tears I could not see, 
^^And heal the wound within my side — 

Come soon, love, back to me!" 

I love you, Nell, the whole night long, 

And keep you in my breast. 
And oft repeat the beautiful song 

I love to hear the best : 

^^Come soon again," — the words you sighed 

With tears I could not see, 
"And take the pain within my side 

Away, dear love, from me; 

"Don't leave me long, my sweetest joy, 

I can not live alone : 
My love for you, my own dear boy. 

Is a secret I must own!" 

66 



TO THE RUSSIANS 

Let us, O brothers, tho across the seas 
Join hands, for we are both democracies. 
We feel the same, and have the same desires; 
In all our veins there run the sparkling fires 
Of freedom's inspiration. We are free 
From despotism and cruel tyranny, 
Devoted to the cause of liberty; 
We understand each other well, and see 
Into each other's heart: so we are friends. 
With mutual interests and common ends. 



67 



MATER DOLOROSA 

(A une Mere Francaise ) 

O Mater Dolorosa! Dieu benisse 

Ton coeur sanglant — mais toujours magnanime- 

Meme si tu, mere, ice-bas ne puisses 

Voir autour de toi tes enfants, I'abime 

Dans ton esprit (comme un lis qu'il fleurisse!) 

Dans Tame, c'est un sentiment sublime! 

O Mater Dolorosa! quel espoir 

Tu devrais ice-bas encore avoir 

Que dans le ciel tes enfants releves 

Par Dieu du creux vacant et morne et noir 

Guerissent les plaies du coeur creve — 

Et qu' ils soient un jour tous retrouves. 

O Mater Dolorosa! cesse done 
De pleurer si tristement; Mater, cesse 
De s'affliger aupres du vain cerceuil, 
Car comme le lierre monte au tronc 
D'un noble arbre, ainsi I'ame vivant presse 
Son essor vers le bon Dieu, loin du deuill 



68 



ARTHUR CLAY'S FAREWELL 

I'm going to the war, sweetheart, 
And I've come to say goodby; 

You know I love you, and always will — 
Be happy — there, don't cry! 

When I come back to you, sweetheart. 

It won't be long, dear, no. 
We'll furnish a little house and then 

To the minister we'll go! 

Oh yes, I'll write 'most every day. 
And you will too, won't you? 

You must not cry, dear girl. — I say. 
Of course I will be true. 

I told you twice I loved you — 

What good is it to cry? 
Give me another kiss, — 

Goodby, dear girl, goodby! 



6g 



THE DEATH SONG OF SIR ROGER 

I am a traitor, and I confess it: 

Against my country I conspired. 
They caught me and tried mte, 

And sentenced me to die. 
Why should they not? 

What else could they have done? 
But protests and petitions 

Are sent in every day 
By crazy, sentimental people 

Who want to interfere 
With the course of justice. 

They do but weary me— 
And put on treason a premium. 

I wish that they would mind their business. 
And let me hang in peace. 



70 



{Translated from a Greek Ms. found at Scutari) 

The Turkish army went to war 

By orders from the Wizir, 
Shouting its battle-cry near and far — 

^^Hurrah! Oh hock der Kaiser!" 

It was the Germans of high rank, 
With Will the Sultan's adviser, 

That trained the soldiers, but how rank 
Their lessons — ^^Hock der Kaiser!" 

The Turks stood up and shouted well 
(Too bad they were not wiser) 

For German discipline and Will — 
Ha, Willie,— ^^Hock der Kaiser!" 



71 



FLY ON, FOREVER! 

Fly on, forever, noble Flag, 
Blown by a favoring breeze, 
And wave thy stars above the land, 
Thine anchor o'er the seas. 

Protect thy sons, majestic Flag; 
Preserve their liberty: 
Thy glorious Stars and Stripes were born 
To make all people free. 

Then fly forever, noble Flag, 
And honor every breeze; 
Maintain thy people safe in war, 
And keep them wise in peace. 



72 



CHAINS 

We forge with thoughts and actions of today 

The hardened links of Future's heavy chain, 
Thru which no file of will can wear its way 

Or wish can cut in spite of growing pain. 
The present moments merge into the past, 

And never may we call them back again; 
They come and go like winds before the mast — 

Like rays of light — like drops of falling rain. 

We forge today the fetters of our lives. 

With Vulcan blows upon the anvil Fate, 
Made of cold steel that mocks at tempered knives. 

Since now it is too late — oh all too late — 
To do their shearing, for the chain is cold. 

And now the edge of will which erstwhile ate 
Thru softer metal, keen and sharp and bold, 

Is old and rusty, ancient, out of date. 

Hark! how they rattle and shake with clink and 
clank — 

Those dreadful chains of selfish servitude! 
They sound of darkened prisons dread and dank. 

Of harsh imprisonment by jailors rude; 
They sound of prisoners linked rank by rank 

That know no joy nor anything of good 
But tread in mire and sleep on a dirty bank 

And by the germs of Death are close pursued. 

73 



With thoughts and deeds we forge our fetters 
now, 

And fasten them with blows of sledges, tight, 
While yet the yielding spirit will allow. 

Tomorrow in the cells of blackest night 
We may be chained — alas ! knowing not how 

Or why the cruel, pinching gyves were wound 
About our hands and necks, and ruined bow 

Beneath the weight, with shameful fetters 
bound. 

We forge today the shackles for our feet. 

And each step marks the path of future ways. 
Each thought we think we must henceforth re- 
peat. 
If now we drop our heads and let our face 
Turn selfward, soon the sun will be too strong 
For darkened eyes; our minds will thus grow 
base. 
Why not fashion our fetters with a song 

From generous hearts, planning for future 
days? 

When men and nations come to blows, they oft 

Forget the altruistic impulses. 
Fearing perhaps to be considered soft 

And feeling wrath a-running thru their pulses. 



74 



How soon can they bind all around their hearts 
Fetters of cruelty and selfish chains 

Which get more tight each day, as Circe's arts 
Bind hoggish men with wire that chokes 
and stains! 

Like great trees fastened near the running streams 

Of water ever pure and fresh and sweet, 
With roots well nourished and with all their 
limbs 

Adorned with vigorous leaves that love to greet 
The passers-by with beauty and with shade 

To give them happiness and shelter there, — 
So we if bound by love can raise our head 

And, freed from self, make Man's whole Fu- 
ture fair. 



75 



CONSOLATION 

What is Time? a mortal minute 
Measured by the hand of man, 
Cut from out the whirling circle 
Of the earth's enormous span? 

Hark! a whispering echo answers: 
^^Time is nought but change, decay. 
When the art of man discovers 
Measures for the fleeting day; 

^When he reckons by a life-time. 
Then is day no more than death : 
For the pointing finger withers 
E'er departs the flickering breath." 

Shall we live by wretched seconds. 
Never looking at the sky? 
Never know that, like the heavens. 
We roll on eternally? 

Graves hide but our earthly bodies 
Laid away beneath the sod ; 
But our souls go on for ever, — 
One with Nature, part of God. 



76 



MARY ROBINE 



A PLAY 



MARY ROBINE 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

Mr. Saintly, a minister. 
Mrs. Robine, a widow. 
Mary Robine, her daughter. 
Robert Held, Mary's lover. 
Mrs. McCarthy, a poor widow. 
Johnnie McCarthy, her son. 
Mr. Wood, the postman. 
Mabelle, maid at the Robines' house. 

The scene is Manahatton, Illinois, U. S. A. 

Act I 

Scene I 

A sitting-room, or parlor in Mrs. Robine's 
house, well but not luxuriantly furnished. In the 
center of the room, on an art-square rug, is a 
library table with books, magazines, and a gas 
drop-light with green glass shade upon it. There 
is a bookcase against the wall at the back, and an 
upright mahogany piano at the right. Doors at 
left and right, by the corners. 

79 



Mr. Saintly and Mrs. Robine (Sitting near 
each other by the table in rocking-chairs,) 

Mrs. Robine (Dressed attractively in widow's 
weeds, and looking quite young for a woman of 
forty. Leans forward toward Mr, Saintly as she 
speaks,) Dear Mr. Saintly, must people always 

fight 
And kill each other in war? It doesn't seem right. 

Mr. Saintly. It doesn't seem right, no; but who 

can say 
It's either right or wrong when it is God's way 
Of waking man from lethargy which kills 
More surely than bullets? What God Almighty 

wills 
Never does harm to man. If we trust not 
In God, whom can we trust? A helper is God — 
He knows our weaknesses and too our needs; 
And tho we comprehend it not, he bleeds 
With us when we are hurt, for we are part 
Of Him, and have His Spirit in our heart; 
But He does suffer more when we are bad. 
And all our wickedness must make Him sad — 
Such sadness is worse than pain! 

Mrs. R. (Touching htm earnestly on the knee,) 

What wickedness 
Do you mean? 



80 



Mr. S. Why, greed and avariciousness, 
Commercial cruelty, land-grabbing, pride, 
Living for self and denying God beside. 
Avoiding one's duties, political foxiness. 
Fooling the people with motives of covetousness, 
Concealing the truth for selfish ends, and — well. 
Why speak of more? 

{Enter Maid) 

Mrs. R. Come later, please, Mabelle. 

{Exit Maid.) 
Oh do go on! (Edging up to him so that her knee 
touches his. He frowns and draws away a little.) 

Mr. S. You know perhaps that lust 
Is wicked, for God has told us that we must 
Not dwell upon the flesh. Man makes a beast 
Of himself — if he's not one already. The least 
That we can do is keep us pure in thought, 
Ennobling thus the bodies God has wrought 
With wonderful design. 

Mrs. R. (Anxiously.) But when we love? 

Mr. S. Ah, that is diff'rent! God uses love to 
move 
His creatures into higher planes of life. 
It is not lust when a pure man loves his wife. 
Or when a woman truly loves a man. 

Mrs. R. (Sighsj relieved, and sits hack, and 
gazes at Mr. S. admiringly.) 

8i 



You talk so wonderfully! And then you can 
Explain so well, Mr. Saintly. 

Mr. S. Thank you, I do 

But say what I am firmly convinced is true. 

Mrs. R. You know so much! tell me, are men 
a little 
Lower than angels? 

Mr. S. I do not want to belittle 

The human race, but man has hardly yet 
Emerged from beasthood! Alas, he still is set, 
Like a slave, in bondage to animal passions. He 
Has not yet tasted spiritual liberty: 
He has not reached by any means that stage 
Where he can love his brother. It is an age 
Of mercenary conquest, enmity 
Aroused by many passions, jealousy 
And hate, hypocrisy and cunning. 

Mrs. R. Oh! 

Mr. S. Tho we like not to think it, yet 'tis so. 
The truth is truth ; and who can say it best 
If not a minister? I do not trust 
Most men and women — 

Mrs. R. Oh! 

Mr. S. They are not able 

To see the truth, hence are not capable 
Of telling it; they can not analyse 
Their own or others' natures: so to them lies 



82 



Are tangled up with truth. Some do not see, 
And can not understand ; while others flee 
From truth because it does not flatter them. 

Mrs. R. (Affecting astonishment) Can that be 
so? 

Mr. S. Madam, it is. Ahem! 

(He moves a little away from her as she moves 

up very close to him) 

Mrs. R. And do you think so little of our sex? 

Mr. S. I respect both sexes. 

Mrs. R. (Edging up to him again) You are 
not m^arried! 

Mr. S. That makes 

No diflf'rence. (Looking down at her hand, 

which she has put, apparently not realizing it, 

close to his knee) One may love a diamond. 
And yet not purchase one. 

(The door opens, and Mr, Saintly rises quickly 

and begins to walk up and down. Enter 

Maid,) 

Maid. Mis' Bigby phoned, 

That she can't come on Thursday, Mis' Robine, 
But she will try to come some other time. 

Mrs. R. Thank you, Mabelle. (Waves her out. 
Agitated) 

I wish we did not have 
To spend such time on dress! 

83 



Mr. S. Madam, I crave 

Your pardon — women love to fuss with dress — 
It's part of their superficial life — yes, 
Almost the greatest part, I do contend. 
They love to make new gowns, but not to mend. 
From morn to noon, from noon to dusky eve 
They ponder o'er their clothes, and slyly weave 
Within their heads a thousand expensive gar- 
ments ; 
They possess great fancies, but very little sense! 

(He stops to look at a picture on the piano.) 

Mrs. R. (Looking at him admiringly) Now 
one would think you were a woman-hater, 
Mr. Saintly! 

Mr. S. (Turning his head nonchalantly,) 
Well, I am no satyr. 
I would not chase a woman very far : 
I care not for the ugly, and fear the fair. 

Mrs. R. You seem to know our very nature, 
tho; 
Not many men can read the women so! 
You must observe acutely. 

Mr. S. Yes, I do. 

For I am anxious to learn whate'er is true. 
This is your husband, I presume — is it not? 
(Holding up the photograph,) 



84 



Mrs. R. (Mopping her eyes gently.) 
Yes, that is Harry. You knew that he was shot 
By cowardly guerillas in Mexico — 
Carranza's men — about three years ago? 

Mr. S. (Walks over to her and places a hand 
on her shoulder.) 
I heard it, Madam. Altho I have been here 
In Manahatton less than a single year, 
I know of all the village peoples' lives — 
The troubles of parents and children, husbands 

and wives. 
I do not mention everything I know. 
I sympathise with you in your great woe: 
The bereavement m^ust have come upon you hard! 
Three years is not so long a time — 

Mrs. R. (Looking up at Mr. Saintly appeal- 
ingly.) 

I dared 
Not mention it before — do you think it right 
For me to marry again, Mr. Saintly, quite 
So soon? Do you believe in a second marriage? 

Mr. S. It depends on the circumstances. At 
your age. 
And if you love a second time, why not? 

Mrs. R. (Sighing in a relieved way.) 
My dear Mr. Saintly, that's just what I have thot, 
But my daughter Mary — 

85 



Mr. S. (Starts, then bites his lip,) Ah yes, 

your daughter Mary — 
Mrs. R. Does not approve of it. She says it's 
very 
Wicked. I can not change her mind. She is 
So set! I do not like hostilities 
Within the family, hence do not speak 
To her of the subject. You do not think it weak 
Of a woman, then, to love another man 
When her first husband is dead? 

Mr. S. I really can 

Not see any harm in it, if there is love 
On both sides. You should ask of God above. 
However, my dear woman, for it is He 
That should decide that question, and not me! 
You spoke of Mary — she is a lovely girl — 
Beautiful — fair as an oriental pearl! 
She seems to be thotful, gentle, loving, kind. 
Does her father's demise prey upon her mind? 
Mrs. R. Listen — I heard her voice— she's com- 
ing now — 
(Mr. S. drops quickly into his chair again, and 
moves it farther away from Mrs. R.'s.) 
Won't you remain with us for supper? 

Mr. S. (Who was not listening attentively to 
her.) 

How? 



86 



Mrs. R. Can you not stay with us to tea? 
Mr. S. (Beams at her happily.) Why yes, 
I shall be delighted to, I must confess. 

Scene 2 
Mr. Saintly, Mrs. Robine, (Enter) Mary. 
Mary (Exuberantly, going over at once to 
shake hands with Mr. S., who has risen.) 
How do you do, Mr. Saintly! 
Mr. S. How are you, Mary? 

Mary. Quite well, I thank you. 
Mr. S. (Still holding her hand, which Mary 
does not try to pull away.) You seem to be 
as cheery 
And happy as ever. (Sits.) I'm glad of it. Why 

should 
Young people not be well and happy? God 

would 
Not have it otherwise. 

Mrs. R. The Reverend 

Is going to stay to tea. 

Mary. And can't you spend 

The evening with us, too? 

Mr. S. I shall be charmed 

To stay a while ; but I must be forearmed 
(Jokingly) Against your beauty, ladies, for I 

might fall 
In love with both of you! 

87 



(They all laugh pleasantly^ and Mrs. R. seems 

to enjoy the compliment greatly.) 
Mrs. R. If that is all, 

We do not mind. And Mr. Saintly, you 
Must make yourself at home. We're only two. 
And often we get lonely — especially 
Since Harry died. So when occasionally 
A sympathetic friend can eat with us, 
It brightens our life and makes it more joyous. 
Mr. S. Thank you! That is a very nice com- 
pliment. 
I remember with greatest pleasure the evening I 

spent 
With you before. 

Mrs. R. (After a pause.) Mary, what's on 
your mind? 
Not worrying again, I hope? 

Mary. I find 

That soon there'll be another draft. 

Mr. S. and Mrs. R. (Together.) Another! 
Mary. That's what the evening paper says, 

dear mother. 
Mr. S. I am surprised. It's hard on the young 
men. 
What else, however, can be expected when 
We are engaged with such a powerful 
And warlike enemy. I hope it will 

88 



Be over soon — but no one knows how long 
The war will last. 

(Another pause, during which they all look 

sad, and Mrs, R, uses her handkerchief,) 
Mrs. R. Won't you please sing that song 
That you were singing this afternoon, dear Mary? 
Mary. (Almost sharply,) I don't believe I can. 
Mrs. R. (Waving toward the piano impe- 
riously,) 

Don't be contrary.* 
(Mary goes to the piano unwillingly , and sings, 
playing her own accompaniment, The Rosary, in 
a sad but beautiful voice. When she has finished 
she stifles a sob in her handkerchief and flees from 
the room without a word. Her mother and the 
pastor exchange astonished glances,) 

Enter Maid. 
Maid. Supper is ready now, Mis' Robine. 
Mrs. R. We 

Will be right in, Mabelle. Set places for three. 

(Exit maid) 
Scene 3, 
(Combination kitchen and dining-room in 
Widow McCarthy's house, furnished with a 
small range on which are a tea-kettle and a coffee- 
pot, a cheap table in the middle of the room on 
which are the remains of a scanty meal, to the 

89 



right a bench with a tub on it, and two cheap 
chairs near the table, on one of which sits John- 
nie,) 

Widow McCarthy and Johnnie (aged 12.) 
W. Mc. (Putting some clothes into the tub, 
getting ready to wash,) Now Johnnie b'y, git 

all th' dishes done, 
Becase oi want t' wash whoile dere's some sun. 
It isn't iv'ry day as is good as dis, 
An' Mis' Robine wanted it by Frroiday. Liz 
Is goin' shure to th' moovin'-picture show 
Wid us tonight 

Johnnie (Getting up and dancing around,) Oh 

mama, can I go? 
W. Mc. Av coorse ye kin, if ye hurry oop an' 
wash 
Th' dishes, darlint. 

Johnnie (Putting the dirtied dishes together 
and starting to wash them in an old dish-pan 
he gets from a closet and sets on the table, 
pouring into it hot water from the kettle,) 
I'll hurry, mama. Gosh! 
But won't we have just a jim-dandy time! 
Is Cousin Charlie goin'? 

W. Mc. Git me th' loime. 

It's in th' closit. Yis, he's goin' too. 



90 



(Johnnie gets the lime for her. She stops to 

hug and kiss him.) 
Johnnie. Hurrah! Won't that be fine! When I 
get thru 
The dishes, ma, I'll help you with the clo'es. 
W. Mc. Ye're a dare little brat, ahem! th' good 
Lord knows! 
How loike yez daddy, too! He wuz alius waitin' 
On me aroun' th' house ter hilp. An' soitin 
Sure yez goin' ter.be loike him. Oi know it. 
(She wipes her nose into the wash tub with her 
finger and thumb, and goes on washing.) 
Now here's a rip in th' shate — Oi'll have t' sew it. 
Oi belave thot's why Mis' Robine gives me her 

clo'es 
Ter wash — becase I does it noice an' sews 
Th' rips. Johnnie, ye'll foind it alius pays 
Ter do thin's good — der' aint no ither ways. 
Nohow, whin ye'z a widder 'ooman. 

Johnnie. I never 

Expect to be a widow, ma. 

W. Mc. (Laughing uproariously.) Did y'iver 
Hear annythin' loike thot? Now didn't Oi say K^. 

Ye'd be a man loike yez fayther some foine day? 
Sure, he wuz alius jokin'. 

(Here Johnnie while listening to her grows 
careless and drops a dish, which smashes.) 

91 



An' he wud break 
Th' dishes, too, but phwat diflf'rence wud it make? 
Oi'U say it av yer dad — he did provoide 
Forr me. Don't worry, lad, dere's more insoide. 
It's a lucky 'ooman gits a man as good 
As he. Did yez hear how th' widder Robine wud 
Be marryin' agin? 

Johnnie. I didn't hear. 

Who told you, ma? 

W. Mc. Go on! now didn't Oi see 'er 
Mesilf out on the porch wid Mr. Mc. Saint? 
He may be a parrsin, but thot don't make 'im a 
saint. 

Johnnie (Snickering,) Oh, you mean Mr. 
Saintly, ma? Why he 
Is their minister! 

W. Mc. An' didn't Mabelle see 

Thim hug 'ach ither in th' room? Go on! 

(A pause, during which she washes furiously, 
and Johnnie wipes the dishes noisily,) 
I wish her will, an' th' parrsin, too. He gave 
Me fifteen dollars lasht wake — more'n I cud save 
In a month o' Sundays. 

Johnnie (Staring at her with his mouth wide 
open,) Fifteen dollars, ma! 

And where'd he get it? 

W. Mc. Where'd he git it? La! 

92 



Don't ask sech foolish quistions. His congrre- 

gation 
Gave it fer me becase I'm poor. Th' nation 
Aint got no better man dan Mr. Mc Saint. 
Johnnie. You're right on that, mama, I bet it 

haint! 
W. Mc. Now hilp me hang th' clo'es out, John- 
nie. Come! 
(She looks around the room.) We aint got much, 
but t'ank th' Lorrd, it's home. 
(She takes up her basket with the clothes she 
has wrung out with her hands and goes out 
into the yard with Johnnie.) 

Exeunt. 

ACT II 

Scene I 

(The Robines^ sitting-room in the evening.) 
Mary (dressed beautifully but simply in a 
white dress with short sleeves, pale but 
happy), and Robert Held (sitting across the 
table from her, on the side nearest the au- 
dience.) 
Robert. You look lovely tonight, Mary. 
Mary. (Blushing and smiling.) Do I? 

Do you mean that as a compliment? 

R. (Embarrassed.) Well, why — 

Why not? 

93 



M. I thought you emphasized tonight 
As if — (hesitates.) 

R. I see! how can I make it right? 
Well now, you're lovely all the time, Mary, 
But somehow tonight you look so very, very 
Beautiful! How's that? a little better? 

(They glance in each other s eyes lovingly and 
laugh gaily, enjoying the joke.) 

M. You're teasing me, I think. 

R. Not a single letter 

Of tease in me, Mary — I'm too direct. 
I suppose you women like some teasing? 

M. Correct! 

Go up to the head of your class, Robert 

R. (Looking around the room.) But I'm 

The only one in my class. 

M. (Meaningly.) Don't be, this time, 

too sure of that. 

R. (Startled and faltering.) Mary, what do 
you mean? 

M. (Coyly.) Am I not also in the class? 

R. (With a forced smile.) I clean 

Forgot about you ! 

M. (Puzzled, speaking coquettishly.) Well, 
I'm right here. (Puts her arm on the table.) 

R. I guess 

You're not much used to teasing, Mary. Yes, 

94 



You're here, and I am here; but I won't be 
Here long, perhaps. 

M. (Clutching the arm of her chair with one 
hand and a magazine on the taBle with the 
other,) 

You mean? 
R. (Excitedly.) The German War! 

They'll call me sure — my duty calls — and for 
My country I will gladly go — to die. 
If necessary! (He seizes her hand passionately, 
leans over and kisses it.) Why, Mary, what's 
in your eye? 
M. (Withdrawing her hand from his and wip- 
ing one eye after the other.) I'm afraid the 
light isn't burning very well. 
(She pretends to make the flame burn higher, but 
instead turns it lower.) 
R. (Gets up quickly and comes around to her, 
and taking both her hands in his, kneels in 
front of her.) I love you, Mary! For you I'd 
go thru Hell! 
M. Oh no! oh no! not there, please, Robert 
dear! 
I'd rather you would stay with us — right here. 
R. You love me, then? (Kisses her hands 

again and again.) 
M. I haven't had time to think. 



95 



R. Give mie some hope! I'd stand to be shot 
or sink 
To the bottom of the sea with happiness 
Dear Mary, if you will only answer, Yes. 

M. (Smiling seriously,) Don't think of dying, 

Robert — I want you to live. 
R. But do you love me, Mary? You must give 
Me an answer. Do I not have a right to know? 
Because — oh pshaw, because I love you so! 

(He rises and attempts to kiss her on the lips. 
She resists half-heartedly at first, then yields. 
He crushes her to him, and for a while there is 
silence,) 
M. (Trying vainly to push htm away.) Oh 
don't, Rob! Stop! 

I hear my mother's steps. 
(The door opens just as Robert turns up the 
light.) 

Scene 2 
Enter Mrs. Robine. 
Mrs. R. (Intuitively sizing up the situation.) 

I hope I am not intruding — 
R. (In a stage whisper aside.) What sweet lips! 
M. (Resignedly.) Oh, not at all! 
Mrs. R. (Sitting down comfortably in Robert's 
chair, which he gallantly offers to her.) 

Thank you, Mr. Held. 

96 



M. Call him Robert, mother. 
Mrs. R. (Reproachfully.) Why, I called 
Harry Mr. Robine long after we 
Were married, dear; and Robert does not mind, 
I'm sure. He rather likes it, as you see. 

R. I don't object — in fact, I find 
It very agreeable. 

(There follows an awkward silence,) 
Mrs. R. (Ogling.) Mr. Held, do you sing? 
R. (After a cough.) Oh yes, Mrs. Robine, I 
sing like anything! 

(They all laugh.) 
(To Mary, lovingly.) Will you not sing for me? 
M. (Rising cheerfully and going to the piano.) 

Which one? 
R. Oh, any. 

Whatever you like — I know you can sing many. 
M. (Looking over several pieces.) 

How about ^A Dream' by Bartlett? 
R. & Mrs. R. (Together.) Fine! 

(Mary sings and plays. Her mother is greatly 

moved, and weeps.) 
Mrs. R. I feel 

So bad! It makes me think of Harry — so real! 
M. (Turning about solicitously on the stool.) 
Hadn't you better go to bed, dear mother. 
If you feel bad? 

97 



R. (Aside, with delight.) That's good! 
Mrs. R. No, play another, 

Dear, and I'll feel better. 

R. (Aside, disappointed.) But I won't, thol 
M. I'll play the ^Spring Song,' by Mendelssohn. 
Mrs. R. Do so. 

(She plays, and Robert applauds, and her 

mother joins in,) 
Mr. Won't you play something, mother? 
Mrs. R. What shall I play? 

M. (After a moment's thought.) The one you 

were practising the other day, 
Hungarian Dances by Brahms — it's very gay. 
(Mrs. Robine goes to the piano, and Robert 

rises to assist her, but when he sees that she 

plays from memory he motions to Mary, and 

they begin to dance to the music.) 
R. (After kissing her passionately, aside at a 

pianissimo passage.) Ah! will you marry 

me, dear Mary? 
M. (Yielding to him modestly.) I guess, 
When you return from the war, dear Robert, yes ! 

Scene J 
(Widow McCarthy's Kitchen.) 
Widow McCarthy (mending), and Johnnie 
(standing near.) 

98 



J. C'n I go fishin', ma? 
W. Mc. Av coorse yez can't! 

Where wud yez go? 

J. In Charlie Graham's punt, 

Down on Big Pond. 

W. Mc. Ye little rascal, yez, 

'Twuz on'y t'uther day says Oi, Oi says. 
Ye mustn't go nare th' wat'rr. Now be ye deef ? 
J. But I thought, ma, that you would give me 
leave, 
'Cuz Charlie's careful, ^n' I'll bring home some 

fish- 
Enough ter fill t' the top yer big white dish. 
W. Mc. Ye will, will yez? Will, Oi dunno. 
Yer pa 
Wuz enuff t' lose. 

J. But I'll be careful, ma. 

Honest, I will! 

(There is a knock.) 
W. Mc. Johnnie, go t' th' doorr. 

(J, opens the door, and enter Mr. Saintly.) 
Mr. S. How do you do? 

W. Mc. (Rising in confusion.) Ixcuse th' 
looks av th' floorr, 
Plase, Mr. McSaint. Johnnie, git 'im a chair! 
Mr. S. Thank you, John. Are you feeling 
pretty fair? 

99 



You've plenty to keep you busy, I suppose, 
W. Mc. Oi 'm faling foine, yer riv'rence. Oi 
have woes, 
T' be sure; 'twuz harrd t' have me auld man die, 
But it 'ud be wicked fer me t' howl an' cry, 
Seein' Oi have so manny f ren's, an' me b'y 
Is good t' me — a rale good b'y he is. 
Sure, Mr. McSaint — he niver tills no lies. 

Mr. S. I believe he surely is, Mrs. McCarthy. 
W. Mc. Joost now he asked t' go on a fishin' 
party,— 
Shud Oi lit 'im go? 

Mr. S. Why not? It'll do him good. 

J. Hear that, dear m^ama? I only wish you 

could! 
W. Mc. Run along, me b'y — be shoore ye 

brring some fish. 

(Johnnie gets from the closet quickly a small 
fishing pole and a cap and goes out happy,) 

Mr. S. How are you getting along? 

W. Mc. Dey's nutt'n' Oi wish 

So much as t' have me man back here wid me. 
But Oi suppose it aint no use. 

Mr. S. Ah, we 

Should never want to bring our dead friends back. 
They are better oflp in the other world. Alack 



100 



That we do not trust God more than we do! 
He takes us in, and takes us out again too 
Just as He finds it best — and He well knows. 
As from an everlasting fountain flows 
His love and kindness for us. He restores 
Us when we are sick and sad. His spirit soars 
About us all the time. Indeed, He parts 
Us from our dear ones, and it hurts our hearts 
At first, but then He comforts us again; 
And we and life have added value, as rain 
Refreshes and benefits the thirsty fields 
And strengthens each little plant, so that it yields 
A generous harvest, finding life a delight; 
Or as the morning brings to the watcher light. 
W. Mc. Shoore, an' yeVe made it so beautiful 

that Oi 
Can't hilp— ye'U parrdin, Mr. McSaint— but cry! 
(She sobs with much feeling.) 
Mr. S. (Patting her sympathizingly on the 

shoulder,) You had a good husband, Mrs. 

McCarthy. See 
What my congregation recently gave to me 
For you. (He takes a ten-dollar bill from his 

pocket and gives to her.) This may assist 

you with the rent. 
W. Mc. It's a koind-hearted man ye arre, dare 

Mr. McSaint! 



lOI 



I t'ank yez koindly, an' yez people, too. 

Mr. S. (Rising to go.) You're very welcome, 

I'm sure — we feel for you. 
W. Mc. Will ye answer me wan quistion afore 

ye go? 

Mr. S. Why yes, what is it? 

W. Mc. Th' Garmin Kaiser, ye know, 

Will he be after wantin' t' govern us? 

Mr. S. (Laughing,) It does look so, but after 
a little fuss 
With some of our boys, I think he'll change his 

mind. 
Why did you ask? 

W. Mc. Sure, I wuz feared dose Jews 

O' Garmins wud come an' make us black der 

shoes. 
Me man wuz kilt in th' battle av th' Mooze, 
An' afore Oi'd let th' Kaiser in dis place, 
Go'd take a rrollin' pin an' smash his face! 

(She swings her arm fiercely thru the air.) 

Mr. S. (Laughing heartily.) That's right, be 
patriotic, Mrs. McCarthy. 
I'm very glad to see you strong and hearty. 

(He goes out with a bow before she can answer. 
She stands looking at the money while the curtain 
drops.) 



102 



Scene 4 
(Lawn in front of the Robines^ housej with a 
hammock and bench, or simply bench, early 
evening after supper in July.) 
Mary (sitting on the bench, with a letter that 

she has been reading in her hand.) 
Mary. My dear boy soon will be embarking 
for France 
To fight for our country. I wonder what his 

chance 
Will be for coming thru alive and strong. 
I hope this terrible war will not last long! 
(She shivers at the thought. Then she kisses 
her letter, and becomes more calm.) 

Scene 5 
(Same as before. Enter) Mr. Saintly. 
Mr. S. (Lifting his hat.) Ah, Mary — just the 

girl I was looking for! 
(Mary hides her letter quickly, rises to greet 
him, then with a gesture offers him a seat on 
the bench beside her.) 
A beautiful evening, isn't it? I adore 
The Great Creator, mighty Architect 
Of the Universe, for having lovingly deckt 
The world. It is indeed a beautiful place — 
With the love of God inscribed upon its face! 



103 



You're worried — what has been troubling you, my 

dear? 
You look so pale ; you are not well, I fear. 
M. I am not ill. I was thinking of the war. 

Mr. S. An awful thing to dwell on. There are 
more 
And better subjects. 

M. For instance? 

Mr. S. At your age, 

Ahem! why, I should think that love and mar- 
riage 
Would be quite interesting. 

M. (Smiling sadly.) Ah, that too 
Was in my thoughts. 

Mr. S. (Aside,) What a lovely smile! 
(Aloud,) So you 
Were thinking of love! (Laying aside his re- 
serve, and taking one of Mary^s hand in both 
of his,) 

O Mary dear, I love 
You so! And you should know it. 

M. (Gently,) Please remove 

Your hands, dear Mr. Saintly — someone might 
Be watching. I am engaged. It's only right 
To tell you so. It has not been announced. 
You see I am not free. 



104 



Mr. S. (Draws back startled,) I had renounced 
All earthly loves, but when I met with you — 
So beautiful, bright, loving, kind, and true — 
I could not help — Ah, Mary, I wish you joy 
In all your wedded life with your dear boy. 

M. I — thank you! 

Mr. S. P^^y? who is your fiance? 

M. Robert Held. 

Mr. S. I wish that you would say 

To him that I congratulate him. (Short pause.) 

The light 
Is fading, and I must go. Good night! 

Mr. (With feeling,) Good night! 

Exit Mr. S. 

Scene 6 

(The same. Enter,) Robert Held (dressed in 
khaki,) 

R. H. You flirting with the minister? How's 
that? 
(Mary rises quickly and extends her arms to em- 
brace him, without speaking,) 
R. (Recoils from her,) I saw him hold your 
hand as there you sat! 
(Pointing accusingly at the bench,) Is not one 
lover enough? 



105 



M. (Still holding out her arms lovingly.) 

I could not fight 
With Mr. Saintly, for that would not be right. 
I asked him to taKe away his hands as soon 
As I could. 

R. You lie! I saw him, by the moon. 
Holding your hand for several minutes. 

M. (Dropping her left hand, and pointing at 
him proudly with her right.) So you 

Are now a spy? Is that the way you woo 
Your fiancee? If you can't trust me now. 
Before you go, or take my word, then how 
Will it be when you have gone away to war? 
Before our God — beneath His moon and star — 
(Pointing upward majestically to the moon, which 
is in the first quarter, and to the evening star 
near it) I give you back your love, your let- 
ters, your ring, 
(Taking several letters from her bosom, and a 
diamond engagement ring, and reaching 
them toward him) And I will return your 
presents — everything ! 
The engagement has not been announced, so we 
From this time forth are mutually free! 

R. (Hesitating for a few moments, stupefied, 
then rushing to her with arms outstretched 
and embracing her with great passion.) For- 
give me, love, for not believing you — 
io6 



When I saw you there with him, it went all thru 
My heart. I believe you, Mary, that you are true. 
Forgive me, please! I love you so! So much! 
M. (Surrendering completely.) I love your 
kisses, Robert — I love your touch— 
You will not take the letters back — or the ring? 
R. No, Mary dear, I'll not take back a thing! 
(They sit.) 
Where is the ring? I'll put it on your finger. 
Hark— a whip-poor-will — what a beautiful 

singer! 
M. I must have dropped the ring — where has 
it gone? 
(Almost crying.) Oh, I must find it! Where is 
my lovely stone? 
R. Don't cry — we'll find it. I will strike a 
match — 
Perhaps it fell in that little uncut patch. 

(He lights a match, the flare of which ilium- 
inates Mary^s face; and he kisses her again 
instead of hunting for the ring, allowing the 
match to fall; but he strikes another and an- 
other then in vain search.) 
R. I'm afraid we can not find it. You had bet- 
ter 
Look in the morning for it. Here is a letter 
You must have dropt. 



107 



(He picks up the letter and hands it to her. She 
kisses it and puts it back in her bosom, and 
sits down with Robert on the bench,) 

R. (After embracing her.) You are a noble girl! 
Have you forgiven me for being a churl? 

M. Of course, dear Bob. Don't speak of it. 

R. (Calmly,) Tell me, 

What did Mr. Saintly want with you? 

M. Why, he— 

He wanted me to marry him. 

R. To marry 

You? 

M. That's what he said. 

R. (Eagerly,) Tell all! 

M. ^Oh Mary,' 

He said, ^I love you, and you should know it. 

M. ^Remove 

Your hands, Mr. Saintly', I said. ^Another I love. 
I am engaged, tho it has not been announced.' 

R. Go on! And he? 

M. He said, 'I had renounced 

All earthly loves, but when I met with you — 
So beautiful, bright, er — gentle, kind, and true, 
I could not help — ah, Mary, I wish you joy 
In all your wedded life with your dear boy.' 

R. He said those words? 

M. I've repeated as near as I can. 



io8 



R. And I was jealous of such a noble man? 
(There is silence^ and then the church bells begin 
to ring for evening service. They listen a 
while without speaking,) 
What do you say to being married tonight? 
M. (Thoughtfully, almost sadly.) I do not 

think it best, sweetheart, or right. 
R. (Suspiciously.) Why not? 
M. How soon, dear Bob, m,ust you go away? 
R. Tomorrow the regiment starts. I got today, 
By special permission, to say goodby to you; 
But I must go back tonight. I'd be in a stew 
If I didn't — my leave expires tomorrow at eight, 
And for the sake of my honor I dare not be late. 
My train will be here soon — at nine-thirty. 

M. Thank you, dear boy, for coming to say 
goodby ! 
I'll never forget this night so long as I live. 
R. Nor I! But, Mary, sweetheart, won't you 
give 
The reason you believe that we should not 
Be married now? Saintly can tie the knot 
In a minute or two. 

M. He is in church, and all 

The other ministers as well. 

R. We'll call 

Upon the justice. 

M. Have you the license, dear? 

log 



R. What a fool I am! 
M. Besides, I fear, 

Even if we were married properly, 
The people would say it was done improperly. 
R. What diff'rence would that make? Who 

cares for opinion? 
M. Do you remember ^The bird with a broken 
pinion 
Can never soar so high again'? It is 
Our duty to think of our reputation. The lies 
And slander people scatter is plenty without 
Our giving them more details to gossip about. 
R. What do you mean? What gossip would 

there be? 
M. (Putting her hand on his arm*) Dear 
Robert, the people would whisper around 
that we 
Were forced to do it. 

R. I don't quite understand. 

M. If you were a woman you would. My sex 
was planned 
By God to long for children, and all they think 
About is that or something related. No ink 
Is black enough to paint their venom. Their 

weakness 
Is jealousy. What seems to be a meekness 
With them is only a base hypocrisy — 
No woman was ever meek. Sincerity 
no 



They never knew. They do not even know 

Themselves. Their chief delight is hurting so 

Somebody else — especially another 

Woman, or else a man they hate — mother 

Or daughter, sister or friend — it's all the same 

With them — that she can never recover. Their 

flame 
Of jealous hate — insatiable almost — 
Could never be extinguished by a host 
Of angels armed with fire-extinguishers. 
Women are reputation-ravishers — 
From the worst up to the best. When people 

marry 
In haste, they say — 

(She stops, embarrassed,) 
R. What do they say, dear Mary? 

M. That they were forced to do it because the 
girl 
Was pregnant. 

R. My God! if they sullied my sweet pearl — 
Her name, I mean — I'd kill the whole damned 
lot! 
(Instead of taking it seriously, Mary laughs,) 
(Angrily,) You laugh? 

M. (More soberly,) Excuse me for laughing. 
You could not 
Exterminate ^the whole damned lot'! 'T would 
take 



III 



Forever and a day, and longer — stake 

Your honor on it! Ha ha! You do not know 

How many they are, my gallant boy, ho ho! 

R. (Appeased,) But you (looking at her in 
wonder) would never do like that, my dear? 
M. I pray to God continually to be near 
And keep me from doing evil. Most of my sex 
Are not so really religious — much is pretext 
With women, I am ashamied to say. An honest 
Female is almost never found. At best 
They are a deceitful lot. 

R. How about your mother? 

M. I think that we had better find another 
Subject, don't you, dear? (Starting) What's 
that, the train? 
R. (Excitedly,) Ha, I must run! (He kisses 
and embraces her hurriedly.) May, not a 
single stain 
Shall touch your honor. Write often, dear, — 
goodby! 
M. Goodby, sweetheart! 

(Robert starts off on a run. She stands a while 
trying to follow him with her eyes, then sinks 
upon the bench and weeps.) 

What a poor, weak girl am I! 



112 



ACT III 

Scene I 
(Kitchen in the Robines^ house^ with a range 
to the left, wall china-closet in the background, 
table a little to the right of the center, two or three 
chairs, and whatever else may be desired. Two 
doors, preferably at left and right corners, back.) 
Mabelle (making bread at the table,) 
M. Ya loo! ya la! I wonder if John will come 
Tonight ? Ya loo! I'd better stay at home, 
So's not to miss him if he does. Ya loo! 
Ya la! I've kneaded that enough. (She hears a 

knock.) Now who 

Is that? Come in! (With a black shawl and black 
bonnet, enter from the left Widow Mc- 
Carthy, followed by Johnnie carrying an 
empty clothes-basket.) 
W. Mc. (Seating herself heavily.) Hullo, 
Mabelle! How is 
Yersilf t'day? 

M. (Kneading some more.) Well. How are you? 
W. Mc. Now yez 

Kin bit Oi 'm falin' foine as silk, me darlint. 
'Twuz on'y yistud'y me brudder sint — 
Me brudder Moike,' ye know, thot's wurrkin 

down 
On th' raleroad bein' built nare Wilmin'town — 

"3 



He sint me fifty dollars. Mabelle — phwot 
D'ye t'ink av thot! {(She slaps both hands down 
on her knees excitedly, then settles back and 
leers at Mabelle.) 
M. (Stopping her work and holding up her 
hands.) 

Fifty I That is a lot, 
Sure thing. (Sighing) I wish I had a brother. 
(Goes on slowly with her work.) 
W. Mc. Y' aint 

In need av a brudder — yeVe got John Reid. 
(Turning to Johnnie, who has been fidgeting 
near her still holding the basket.) Now haint 
Ye anny rist in yez? Ye ntake me narvous. 
Sit down an' be shtill. Were is he now? (To 
Mabelle.) 
M. In Jarvis — 

At least, he was. He may be here tonight. 
W. Mc. O blissed Mary! Mabelle, dare, thot's 
right — 
Inj'y jersilf whoile young. Ye niver know 
Whin yez'U meet a catastroph er so, 
Loike me, a pore, lone widder! Phwot fun is 
thot? 
M. (Cutting the dough up and putting it care- 
fully in several bread-pans.) I guess there 
isn't any. 



114 



W. Mc. No, there's not! 

I t'ink Mabelle, ye'U not become an auld maid. 
(To Johnnie suddenly) Run out, me b'y, an' 

play in th' yard, in th' shade. 
(Johnnie goes out reluctantly, to the left,) 
(Leaning forward) Did ye hear, begorra, phwot 

Doctor Baykin said 
About auld maids? 

M. (Stopping again.) No, tell me. 

W. Mc. Will, indade. 

He said as ther' war noine vay-rye-us stages 
Thot auld maids go thru in th'r difif'rent ages. 

M. (Much interested.) What are they, Mrs. 
McCarthy? 

W. Mc. Th' foist is dis: 

Whin th' noice takes her fr'm th' doctor man t' 

kiss 
Her on th' buttocks an' examine her little parts; 
Dey love her thin, becase she fills ther' hearts 
Wid joy an' satisfacshun. Thin th' nixt 
Is whin she gits t' be aroun' near six t' 
Twilve! she plays wid de b'ys an' goils t'gither. 
An' toins up her nose t' some, falin' she's bitter 
Dan dey; an' she does lots av naughtiniss 
On th' soide, but none sushpicts it niverth'liss, 
Becase she is a goil. Th' thoid is whin 
She is in pubbe'ty; she's bashful thin. 



"5 



Becase av her swillin' brists an' nastybayshun ; 
An' is sure she is th' most iligant creashun! 
She tells her mither she does not loike th' b'ys, 
But annyone shud know dey all are lies — 
Dat's all she t'inks av, drames av, day an' noight; 
She t'inks she's smarrt, but she is far f r'm broight. 
The fourt' stage foinds her quoite a little leddy, 
An' joost fur fun she goes aroun' wid Eddy, 
An' lits 'im spind his cash, but all th' toime 
She t'inks no more of Eddy dan a doime, 
But wonders whin her wealt'y prince will come 
To marry her an' give her a stoylish home ; 
She buys a lot av clo'es, and looks more swill 
Dan anny fallin angil come fr'm Hill! 
She t'inks in th' fift' stage still more av her silf. 
An' looks f'r a king to take her frum th' shilf 
An' make her a quane, an' bring a coach an' four, 
Or a Packard Sixty-twin, wid vilvits galore. 
Chauffers, butlers, soivants, cat'rers, tailors, 
Coortiers, aut'ors, ministers, wealt'y sailors — 
Moichants, I mane, t' wait on 'er an' say 
She is th' greatest 'ooman av anny day; 
An' she toins up 'er nose at common rispictable 

min, 
Loike me auld man, an' tosses up 'er chin. 
Th' sixt' is whin she gits a little gray; 
She looks t' God t' come an' take 'er away 



ii6 



An' make 'er Goddess av Hivin! so she k'n look 

down 
On iverybody ilse thot is aroun'. 
The siv'nt' foinds her auld an' cauld an' t'in, 
An' tarribly j alius av iverybody thin, 
Ispicially th' married 'oomin, who git 
Th' pleasure the'r husban's give 'em — ev'ry whit 
The on'y t'ing in loife thot's good, — Oi mane, 
It is th' bisht! Thin comes the eight', in which 
She does herr scanty hair up wid a switch. 
An' ogles at th' min, an' hopes an' prays 
Thot some strong man will come an' kiss 'er face 
An' marry her an' do th' rist, — joost who. 
She cares not — anny good strong man'U do! 
Th' lasht an' noint' stage foinds her widout teet', 
Onliss ther' false, an' it's harrd f'r her t' eat; 
She's deef, an' lame, an weak; but shtill at noight 
She peerrs benaith th' bid — not out av froight. 
But forr t' foind a man, an' thot is rroight! 

(Mabelle laughs boisterously, while Widow 

Mc. C. shakes with silent laughter, and holds 

her sides,) 
W. Mc. (Going to the left door) Where be 

ye Johnnie? Come in an' git th' clo'es! 
(Returning to her chair) It's a wonder Mis' 

Robine didn't put her nose 
In th' doorr t' see phwot we war laffin' about. 



117 



M. It is no wonder — Mis' Robine is out! 
W. Mc. It's joost as will. Now we kin take 
our aise, 
An' have a good toime indade, joost as we plaise. 

Scene 2 
Mrs. Robine (Sitting in her sitting-room 
alone^) I can not read, I can not play — I have 
No pleasure or rest in anything. I behave 
So queerly! I wonder what is the matter with me? 
I hope I'm not sick. My food sits heavily, 
And I confess I have no appetite. 
I'm sleepy by day, but can not sleep at night. 
Oh, Harry was a faithful husband. I 
Did not appreciate him fully. Why, 
I know not, except perhaps because I had him 
All to myself. Why should I have a mad whim 
Once in a while to cross him as I did? 
I could have seen that he was better fed, 
That is, more regularly — he got enough. 
To be sure — no wonder he was sometimes grufif! 
He stood my humors like an angel. If he 
Had got real angry — real angry, and beaten me, 
I would have appreciated him more. He was 
Too good to me, I'm sure. I wish the laws 
Would let a husband beat his wife a bit — 
That's what the women need, I'm sure of it. 

Ii8 



D' you think — that I — will ever marry again? 
It's possible — there are a lot of men 
Who love me — crazy over me — ah, but 
The one I want does not propose. I'll shut 
The doors — somebody might be listening, 
And I like to think aloud. 

(She gets up and closes both doors carefully,) 

The fastening 
On this is poor — I'll have to have a man 
Come fix it. (She sits down again,) Oh, why is 

it a woman can 
Not tell the man she loves how crazy she is 
About him! It's hard to be a widow. Kiss — 
Embrace — all is denied to me, alas! 
And I grow older as the long years pass — 
Farther from marriage, because of being less 
Attractive. I'm still pretty, nevertheless. 
And maybe Mr. Saintly will propose — 
If, like mine, his affection grows and grows! 

(At this point the door opensj and the spirit of 
her husband enters silently^ so that she does 
not observe it, and passes sadly around be- 
hind her to the other side of the table from 
her and stops, waiting for her to look up.) 

(Screams.) Mercy! Oh Heavens! My God — 
it's Harry! 



X19 



(The apparition vanishes without moving.) 

Enter Mary 
Mary. What is 

The matter, mother? 

Mrs. R. (Collecting herself,) One of my 
vagaries, 
That's all, my child. Don't worry. I thought I'd try 
A little acting. You heard me scream? That's why. 

Exit Mary. 

Scene J (As before) 
Enter Mabelle. 
Mabelle. The Reverend Mr. Saintly, ma'am, 
is here. 
And would like to see you. 

Mrs. R. (Graciously.) Show him in, my dear. 

Exit Mabelle. 
How strange! 'Twas Harry himself! Can 
spirits come 
To earth again and visit their former home? 
It seems impossible. Yet I have heard — 
Enter Mr. Saintly. 
Mrs. R. How glad I am to see you! I was 
stirred 
By a very strange event a moment ago. 
Please make yourself at home. Should you care 

to know 
What it was that happened? 



120 



Mr. S. (After seating himself comfortably.) 
By all means, yes. Did you 
Cry out? 

Mrs. R. It must have been Mabelle, the maid — 
She screams sometimes at little things, afraid 
Of bugs, and snakes. 

Mr. S. Ah, yes, of course. You said 

That you were startled? 

Mrs. R. I said I was stirred, instead 

Yes, greatly stirred. I saw my husband's spirit. 

Mr. S. Your husband's spirit? 

Mrs. R. Yes, or very near it. 

Mr. S. That is remarkable! 

Mrs. K. Is it possible, 

You think, Mr. Saintly? 

Mr. S. Surely. It's plausible- 

Why not? Because the sceptics sneer and doubt 
Does not affect the truth of it. Without 
A question, spirits have been seen by many — 
And in this village. 

Mrs. R. Have you heard of any 

Here? 

S. Yes, four. How did your husband appear? 

Mrs. R. (Trembling.) Why, I looked up, and 
there he was. 

Mr. S. Quite near? 

Mrs. R. (Pointing) Right there. 



I2Z 



Mr. S. You recognized him? 

Mrs. R. 'Twas no one else. 

Mr. S. And then you screamed? 

Mrs. R. (Severely) I said it was Mabelle's 
You heard, if any. 

Mr. S. Ah, yes, I beg your pardon. 
It must have been her I heard out by the garden, 
Of course. And had you been worrying — I mean, 
Thinking of him? 

Mrs. R. (Coyly) Oh Mr. Saintly, I've seen 
The times when I thought about Harry more. 

Mr. S. (Meaningly) He had 

A message for you. I hope it was not bad. 
What did he say? 

Mrs. R. He simply looked at me. 

Mr. S. That was enough, Mrs. Robine. Ah, 
surely 
You ought to ponder over it, to see 
What thing your husband meant. It might well 

be 
Of great importance to you. 

Mrs. R. Mr. Saintly, I will. 

Mr. S. Our duties, you know, are the first 
things to fulfill. 

Mrs. R. (With an enticing smile.) It's very 
warm in here now. Won't you come 
Out on the lawn? 



Z22 



Mr. S. Why, yes. 

Mrs. R. (Meaningly) And feel at home. 

Exeunt 
Scene 4 
The Robines^ Lawn. 
Enter Mrs. Robine and Mr. Saintly from the 

house. 
Mrs. R. (Motioning to the bench, which is 
under a tree.) That is a coo! spot — let us sit 
down there. 
Mr. S. I see but one seat — I'll go and get a 

chair. 
Mrs. R. I'm sure there's room enough on it for 

two. 
(Mr. S. without replying goes into the house, 
to the evident disappointment of Mrs. R., and 
brings out a chair, which he gives to her, and 
sits on the bench.) 
Mr. S. (Dryly) This is better. 
Mrs. R. The maid could have brought it for you. 
Mr. S. I am not helpless. What is ailing Mary? 
Mrs. R. (Startled) Why do you ask? 
Mr. S. She used to be so merry 

And happy, but now so different. I met 
Her in the hall when I went in to get 
The chair. She was crying, and hardly spoke to 
me. 



123 



Mrs. R. You know that women feel at times 
less cheery 
And gay than at others. Now no doubt — 

Mr. S. (Interrupting) I know, 

I know; but that does not account for a so 
Great change in her. She is another girl 
From what she was. It hurts me to see it. 

Mrs. R. A whirf 

Of love, especially when the lover's away. 
Is often known to injure one. 

Mr. S. (Glancing at her sharply) You say 
The truth, indeed. (Sighs,) I truly hope this 

mood 
Will not last long. If I were you I would 
Invite some young folks of the town — her age— 
And give her parties. 

Mrs. R. She will not have them. She stays 
By herself a lot, and will not even talk 
To me sometimes. She goes to her room to lock 
Herself in there alone. I hardly know 
How best to treat her. 

Mr. S. Speak to Doctor Low — 

Mrs. R. I did. He said 'twas love and worry, 
and that 
No medicine could help her. 

Mr. S. (Distracted) My hat, my hat— 

(Looks around for his hat) Where is my hat? 



124 



And will no admonition 
Affect her? 

Mrs. R. Useless. She's full of premonition — 
Talks of death — 

Mr. S. (Aside) How psychic these people are! 
(Aloud) I'll see the doctor. Perhaps with ex- 
cellent care — 
(Rises to go) 

Mrs. R. (Rising too) Before you go, won't 
you come 'round and see 
Some gladiolus that came from Italy? 

Exeunt 

Scene 5 
The Robines^ Sitting-Room 
Enter Mary 
Mary. Where shall I go? I love the quiet, yet 
still 
When I am alone I feel a deathly chill 
Run thru my heart. Why should I want to avoid 
All company? Alas, the world is void — 
A failure, life, and death, a misery! 
How many have suffered before me! History 
Is full of unhappy lovers. Where is that play — 
Trancesca da Rimini'? Was it taken away? 
(She searches for it, first on the table, then in 
the bookcase.) 



125 



Mother perhaps was reading it. Ah, here 
It is! I'll sit and finish it. O dear 
Francesca! You attained a noble fame, 
But who will ever hear of my poor name? 

(She sits, and reads for a few moments; but 
then looks up meditatively and sadly. As 
she looks across the room a vision appears, 
lighter and brighter than its surroundings. 
A young soldier — plainly Robert Held — lies 
wounded near the edge of a shell-crater. He 
tries to sit up, but is unable. He puts his 
hand to an inner pocket and draws forth pain- 
fully a letter, which he kisses. A convulsion 
overtakes him, and he dies, with the letter 
still in his hand.) 

Oh help! It's Robert! Help! (She lets fall the 
book, and almost collapses in her chair, 
pallid and trembling.) 

Enter in alarm Mr. Saintly and Mrs. Robine. 

Both (Together) Why did you scream? 

M. You would have screamed if you had had 
the dream 

I had. 

Both. A dream? 

M. It was an apotheosis 

Of Robert! 

Both. Robert? 



126 



Mr. S. (Aside, sadly) A hard attack of neurosis, 

I fear — these visions often occur in such 

A state. It portends no good. (Aloud) Mary, 

how much 
Have you been sleeping lately? 

M. I am not ill. 

Don't worry about me, please, folks. Now I will, 
If you'll excuse me, go on reading. 

(She picks up the fallen book, and reads, ignor- 
ing her mother and the minister, who glance 
at one another comprehensively ,) 

Exeunt all but Mary. 
M. (Allowing the book to drop into her lap) 

Yes, 
If a confession is good for the soul, I must confess 
I almost love that minister! I long 
To confide in him, but fear it would be wrong 
I must be faithful to Robert. Temptations lose 
Their pow'r o'er us when we avoid them and 

choose 
To be strong. (She prays) O God, I ask Thee, 

give me strength. 
And may I feel thy Spirit near, at length! 



127 



ACT IV 

(Two months later) 

Scene I 

(Widow McCarthy's Kitchen,) 

Widow McCarthy (peeling potatoes.) 

W. Mc. Th' prroice av iv'ryt'ing is goin' oop — 
How kin we live? Arrah! Soon a coop 
Av tay will cosht as much as an oi'dinary 
Male before. Bejabers, it's wickud! Vary 
Will, if it's forr th' country's honor; if not, 
Th' divil wid it! Some rich min make a lot 
Av money, whoile we poor people have t' give 
Not only our iv'ry cint t' eat an' live. 
But husban's, too. Oi don't t'ink it's rroight! 
Oi wud — if dey'd on'y give me a chancet — Oi'd 

frroight 
Th' vary loife out on 'em! Dey wudn't grin 
An' chuckle at us poor divils — Oi'd shtick it in 
To 'em ontil dey hollered — I wud ! 

(She swings her knife fiercely around in the air, 
and then goes on peeling fast.) 

Enter Johnnie (excited,) 

J. O ma, 

Miss Robine's coming with her mother! 

W. Mc. (Dropping both knife and potato) La, 
Be ye tillin' me th' trut'? 



128 



J. (Stoutly, shutting the door hard) Of course 
I am. 

W. Mc. Behave yersilf, an' don't lit th' doorre 
slam! 
Pick up dose t'ings (pointing to some clothes.) 

(She puts the peelings in the stove, and the 
whole potatoes in the closet, leaving out what 
she had cut, a very few, and taking a broom 
begins to sweep easily. There comes a 
knock.) Johnnie, see who it is. 

Scene 2 (Same) 

Enter Mrs. and Mary Robine. 
W. Mc. (Leaning the broom against the wall 
and going to greet the visitors with a great 
bustle) 
Augh, Mrs. Robine! It is an honor yiz 
Is payin' me. Johnnie, git a chair. 
Be quick about it. An' how's Miss Mary? Dere, 
Sit down and rist a bit — ye must be toired. 
It's warm f r October. Oi see yiz be poispoired! 
Mrs. R. Thank you, I won't sit down. (She 
looks around haughtily and contemptuously .) 

I see you're poor. 
(Mary is about to take the chair offered politely 
by Johnnie, but on hearing her mother s re- 
fusal declines with a grateful gesture.) 

129 



W. Mc. Will, Oi don't have much money, thot 
is shoorre. 
But shtill der's difif'rent koinds av poverrty: 
Oi have me son, an' he's a vary good b'y. 
Mrs. R. (Scanning Johnnie with a sneer) 
He's a dirty boy. He ought to wash himself 
more; 
And a little water wouldn't hurt your floor. 
(She lifts her skirts up a little,) 
W. Mc. (Embarrassed) Ah will, it's pooty 
clane, considerin'. 
Oi aint much av a hand at putterin' 
Aroun' all day at th' floore. Indade, Oi have 
Enuff t' do besoides. Oi aint no slave. 

M. I've seen the dirt in our own kitchen worse on 
The floor. 

Mrs. R. What a thing to say before a person 
Like Mrs. McCarthy! 

M. (Wearily) All right, ma — it is true. 
Mrs. R. (Stiffening up) To change the subject, 

Mary said that you 
Needed assistance. (Takes money out of her hand 
— and hands it to W. Mc. with a grand air) 

Here is a two-dollar bill. 
(W. Mc. hesitates at first to take it^ but on look- 
ing at Mary's face she yields and accepts,) 
Now spend it carefully. 



130 



W. Mc. T'ank yez— Oi will. 

Mrs. R. Hadn't we better be going, Mary? 

M. Yes, 

If you say so, mother. (To W. McJ Could you 

make over a dress 
For yourself? I have a few that I shall not 
Put on again. 

W. Mc. (Gratefully) Shoore, I cud. 

Mrs. R. (Opens the door to go out. Complain^ 
ingly.) How hot 
It is outside! Come, Mary. 

M. Be patient, mother. 

(She pats Johnnie on the head lovingly.) 
Goodby. I wish I had a little brother 
Like Johnnie, Mrs. McCarthy. I'll come again 
Next week, if walking isn't too much of a strain 
On me. 

Mrs. R. (Sharply) Come, Mary, come! It looks 
like rain. 

Exeunt Mrs. R. and Mary 

W. Mc. Poor Mary don't look will at all, in- 
dade! 
How poor an' thin she is! Augh! Oi'm afraid 
Der's sumt'ing wrrong wid her. Did ye see it, b'y? 

J. I didn't, ma — she looked very beautiful 
To me. 

W. Mc. Ah, she is thot, an' dootiful. 



131 



Joost loike an angel. Der's hivin in 'er eye, 
But it looks loike dith! Oh, Johnnie, it makes me 
cry! 
(She weeps, and wipes her face on her dress,) 
(Crossly, of a sudden) Johnnie, git me dose pota- 
toes out — 
An' quit yer cryin', er I will t'row yez out! 

Scene J 

The Robines^ Lawn 

Enter Mr. Saintly from the house. 
Mr. S. Mary not in? That's strange. I can't 

believe it. 
I'll write a letter — she will have to receive it. 
No, I'll not. Letters are nuisances, 
Likely to stir up many disturbances. 
Something is worrying Mary — there is no doubt 
Of it; and I would like to help her, without 
Annoying her. I love her more than ever. 
Dear, pure, and honest girl! No, I must never 
Refer to my love for her again. It would 
Be only dangerous to both; and should 
Some of these terrible gossips learn of it. 
My name would not be worth a cherry-pit. 
What clacking of tongues! What horribly evil 

talk! 
What fiends for ruining reputations! To balk 

132 



These female furies that pose as model Christians 

Is absolutely impossible. Like cisterns 

Seemingly pure but full of typhus germ, 

Destructive bacilli of every form, 

Decaying sewerage, eggs of the rectal worm. 

Dead frogs and cats, putrefying snakes 

And the filthiest bugs the great Creator makes — 

They are; their tongue, their mind, their very soul 

Appear to me all rotten, stinking, foul! 

They would not be so bad if it were not 

For the cunning deception they practise. Ah me! 

this lot 
Of being a minister is not what one 
Still uninitiated would think. A gun 
With magazine full in the hands of a fiendish man 
Could not do half the damage a woman can 
With only her tongue — that thin and waspish 

member 
That stings and poisons, loving to dismember, 
Sicken, kill, and destroy. O sinister 
And devilish woman! How can a minister — 
A poor, weak minister, prevent your evil? 
It takes a god to overpower a devil. 
I love this spot — where I sat with dearest Mary, 
And told her of my love. It is a very 
Celestial and sacred precinct to me now. 
I hate to leave it. Mary, Mary, how 



133 



I love thee! and how I'd like to help! But my 

hands 
Are tied as if by superhuman bands. 

Exit slowly with head bowed. 

Scene 4 (Same) 

Enter Mary from the house, 

(She has some sewing in her hands, and walks 
almost unsteadily to the bench, where she sits,) 

M. (Gazing around at the trees and sky,) 
Oh, it is nice to be out! The trees and sky 
Smile down upon me all so lovingly! 
Heaven's caresses are near, surrounding me — 
Touching, caressing— that I can plainly see. 
My understanding is dull. I wish I knew 
As much as Mr. Saintly. But he may, too. 
Feel just the same as I. Each human being 
Can go so far in comprehending and seeing 
As the nature of each allows. No one can be 
Omniscient in this world — 'tis vanity 
To make the claim. Oh, in a little while 
I may be allowed to see my sweetheart's smile — 
I hear him calling me. His loving voice 
Rises in triumph above the dreadful noise 
Of battle — above man's jealous, tumultuous strife. 
Ah, would that people loved more in this life. 
And hated less! God wants us all to love 
Each other, but hateful, jealous thoughts remove: 

134 



That is the greatest message His prophets can 
Proclaim — in the present, past or future — to man. 
What could be greater? I do not mean so much 
The love of sex, but love of spirit, whose touch 
Alone can uplift men and women from 
The degrading influences of the womb 
Of hot desire. I must confess I too 
Have felt the pricks of passionate heat; but thru 
The spirit's will I've tried to make them slaves. 
Why be a slave to sexual passion? 

Enter Mrs. Robine unseen by Mary 

Mrs. Robine (Jealously, aside) She raves! 

Exit 

Mary. (Turning around) Was someone here? 
Alas, I thot I felt 
An evil spirit near. (Takes up her sewing.) My 

heart will melt 
Beneath this awful pressure — this heavy load 
I bear. I can't endure it long. My God, 
Relieve me soon! 

(She sighs, and leans forward heavily, but forces 
herself upright and tries to sew,) 

My sex, my sex, when wilt 
Thou truly perceive and conquer thy great guilt? 
To bury thy soul in lust, and yet pretend 
With impious hypocrisy to bend 



135 



Before the God thou heedest not? Thyself — 
Thy passions, pride, vanity, power, and pelf — 
That is the Deity thou worshipest! 
And who but a woman herself can see it best? 
But this will never do: I must not rail — 
Rather, control myself. 

(Hearing the sound of steps coming from the 
road, she looks up, much startled.) 

What's this, the mail? 

Enter Postman. 
Postman. (Holding out a letter) It's the mail, 
Miss Mary. I hope it's something good. 

M. (Catching at her heart as she takes it) I 
hope so, too. Thank you, Mr. Wood. 

Exit Postman. 
(Mary examines the letter with poorly control- 
led excitement,) 

From the French Department of War! What does 
it mean? 

It must be Robert's death that I have seen. 

Why hesitate? (She opens it, and reads) ^We 
beg to notify 

That Robert Held, your fiance, did die 

On the battle-field September twentieth. 

Brave and courageous, he died a hero's death." 



136 



(She lets the letter fall^ then rises and extends 
both arms out tragically, as if for an em- 
brace,) 
Dear Robert, 'twas you who came to me last night 
To call me to you ! Dear boy, I come. The light 
Of earth is growing dim, but the light of heaven 
Grows brighter — nearer — thank God, my prayer 
is given! (She dies,) 

Scene 5 
The Cemetery, 

In about the center of the scene there is a new 
grave, very recently covered with turf and 
flowers, with a wreath at the head, but no 
stone. 
Enter Widow McCarthy and Johnnie 

(Both have their hands full of wild flowers that 
grow in October, such as asters, etc., and 
Johnnie has in addition a small American 
flag,) 

W. Mc. Sure, dis is Mary's grave, Johnnie b'y. 

J. But I don't see any name. 

W. Mc. Thot is joost why 

Oi know it's hers. 

(They both kneel down and try to arrange their 
flowers without covering those already 
placed,) 

137 



Why did ye have t' die, 
Dare Mary? (She bursts out crying, and rocks 

back and forth on her knees, Johnnie begins 

to cry, and she turns on him fiercely.) Cryin' 

be ye? F'rr shame! Yez twilf 
Yares auld, an' aint got anny c'ntrol av yersilf? 
Come, be a man — yer mither's depindin' on yez. 
Oh, Mary — ye looked loike dith — thot's phwot 

Oi sez — 
Now did't Oi, Johnnie? Oi noo ye wuzn't will, 
But dis is tirrible! Ye' be here shtill, 
If it wuzn't f r dat dommed warr an' th' doi'ty 

kaiser! 
If he wuz here, Oi'd make 'im soi'tin'ly woiser 
Dan he has been! (Shakes her fist in the air.) 
Enter Mr. Saintly. 
Mr. S. (Laying his hand in a kindly manner 

upon her shoulder) What's the matter, Mrs. 

McCarthy? 
Why so excited? This is too wild a party 
For a quiet cemetery. "Respect the dead. 
W. Mc. (Crying again) It's grreat r'spict Oi 

have f'r 'em, indade, 
Yer riv'rince! Thot's why Oi came wid Johnnie 

here, 
T' dicorate th' poor goi'l's grave. Sincere 
Oi am, dare Mr. McSaint. Ixcuse me, plase. 

138 



Mr. S. You're pardoned, Mrs. McCarthy. I 
know your ways. 
Were you trying to frighten ofif an evil spirit? 
There is none in existence, so do not fear it. 

W. Mc. Oi wuz shakin' me fisht at th' Garmin 
divil 
Thot caushed th' warr thot killed poor Mary. 

Mr. S. Evil 

Enough ; but he is getting his deserts — 
And will in the future with all the other perverts 
Of his low type. But we ought not to judge. 
For God does that. 

W. Mc. We shudn't, yez sayin'? Fudge! 

Parrdin me again — Oi wuz vary ixcoited. 

Mr. S. I don't blame you. A man who has 
exploited 
So many people as William the German king 
Does not deserve much credit — or anything 
That's good. It's hard to say, but it is true. 
You came here thru love for Mary, didn't you? 

W. Mc. We did. She wuz th' darest goi'l thot 
iverr 
Lived on airth, an' Oi'm ixpictin' niverr 
T' see her loikes agin. 

Mr. S. Lovely she was. 

As you say truly, Mrs. McCarthy. Good cause 
You have to say it. She was good to you. 



139 



(He wipes his eyes with his handkerchief, and 
Mrs. McCarthy and Johnnie cry,) 

J. C'n I put this flag on her grave, Mr. Saintly, 
too? 
She wasn't a soldier, but — 

Mr. S. I know what you mean. 

My boy. Yes, if you like. I've never seen 
A more patriotic boy. Yes, why not have 
The Stars and Stripes fluttering o'er her grave? 

(Johnnie puts on the flag very lovingly,) 
But I beseech you, to not come to mourn 
At Mary's grave, and do not feel forlorn 
Because she's dead. The body may be here, — 
What of it? Her soul's in another atmosphere 
More beautiful than this, where jealousy. 
Hard physical suffering and poverty. 
Hatred, passion, unrequited love 
Do not exist, and therefore can not move 
The spirit basely. But when we suffer, they 
Do suffer with us, and we hurt them. 

W. Mc. Oh, prray, 

Dare Mr. McSaint, an' loud so Mary kin hear it — 
If not her body, at laisht her darrlin' shpirrit! 

(Mr, Saintly kneels reverently at the side of 
the grave opposite them and prays.) 



140 



Mr. S. O God, be with us now, and fill our 

heart 
With sense of duty, that we may do our part 
To make the world a very beautiful place. 
Oh turn to us. Almighty God, Thy face 
And let it shine on us. Give us Thy blessing. 
For we Thy children humbly are confessing 
Thee. Be near to Mary and bless her soul. 
And comfort those who miss her — bless them all. 
We pray, dear Lord, that wars will sometime 

cease. 
And that the world will learn to live in peace! 

Curtain falls while they are kneeling. 



141 



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